


The Hearts of Men

by TazzyJan



Series: Demon Chasers [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Death, Asexual Character, Demonic Possession, Horror, M/M, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Supernatural Elements, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 115,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TazzyJan/pseuds/TazzyJan
Summary: Follows on the heels of What Darkness Lurks.  The trio is left to pick up the pieces and do whatever it takes to find their missing fourth before it's too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snow_Glory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Glory/gifts).



It was two days before the doctor was satisfied that Porthos was in no danger and agreed to release him. Athos had been given specific instructions as to what he was and was not allowed to do as well as a list of danger signs to look out for. Athos had assured the doctor that Porthos would follow his instructions to the letter and they were finally allowed to take him home. As the cab pulled up in front of the building, Athos found himself nervous. He had not been back here since the attack, even going so far as to buy new clothes for the three of them rather than returning here. It was not that he was afraid, at least not for himself. Rather, he simply was not ready to face the reality of what had almost happened.

As they made their way inside, mindful of Porthos' lingering concussion, Athos regretted not returning first. This was going to be hard on Aramis and Porthos both and he should have prepared himself for that. There was nothing to be done for it now, though, so Athos schooled his features as he unlocked the front door. Pushing the door open wide, Athos froze at the sight that greeted them. He had forgotten what a shambles the place was in with papers and debris strewn everywhere. The desk still lay on its side against the wall and broken pieces of glass littered the floor. He had no idea how he could have forgotten about the state of the place and kicked himself for not seeing to it before they all returned.

"I had forgotten..." Aramis trailed off as he pushed past Athos into the room and carefully picked his way through the mess. He brushed the shards of glass and pottery out of the way as he went, clearing a narrow path.

"Think we all did," Porthos muttered as he took in the state of their home. The enormity of the damage made his head start to throb and he pressed his fingers to his temple in a vain attempt to relieve the pain.

"Here," Aramis said as he righted the sofa and brushed it off. He wanted to get Porthos situated then he and Athos could see about the mess.

"Come on," Athos said as he took Porthos by the arm and led him to the waiting couch. Sitting him down, he hurried to the bedroom and grabbed a blanket from the closet. Once Porthos was settled, Athos stepped back and began surveying the damage.

"The computers are trashed, though the hard drives may be salvageable," Aramis commented as he examined the twisted remains of his laptop.

"That's okay," Porthos said. "Everything's backed up. The kid..." Porthos fell silent as pain washed over him at the mention of their missing fourth.

"We will find him," Athos said, taking in the twin looks of pain on their faces. "We will find him and we will get him back. I have lost one little brother, I will not lose a second."

They had gotten the room mostly put to right, the papers all gathered to be sorted through and the various broken bits littering the floor all swept up. The desk was a lost cause and Athos made a note to have it removed as he added it to the growing list of things to be repaired or replaced. Aramis was putting books back on the bookshelf when something tumbled off the top to land with a wet thud on the floor beside him.

Shouting and jumping back, Aramis' hand went to the rosary around his neck, his eyes fixed on the dark lump lying a few feet away. Athos and Porthos had both startled at his cry with Athos spinning toward him and Porthos coming half off the couch. "Stay back!" Aramis yelled when Athos took a step toward him and, unfortunately, whatever the thing on their floor was.

"Easy, Aramis," Porthos said from the couch. He had turned so he was facing them over the back of it and could see the thing on the floor.

"Is it dead?" Athos asked warily.

"Can't tell," Porthos replied. "Grab the broom. See if you can prod it or something."

Athos did as Pothos suggested, prodding at the thing with the end of the broom as Aramis held his breath. When it didn't move, Athos glanced at Porthos then slowly moved closer. After a bit more judicious use of the broom they determined that, whatever it was, it was dead. Donning a pair of latex gloves, Aramis crouched down next to it as Athos stood beside him, broom held at the ready. With a grimace, Aramis turned the thing over and examined it. A moment later, he cried out and dropped the thing, falling backward in his attempt to get away from it.

"What is it?" Athos asked, his attention shifting back and forth between Aramis and the thing on the floor as if he expected it to come back to life at any moment.

"S-S-Sylvie," Aramis gasped, his face turning ashen. "It's Sylvie."

"What?" Athos frowned, his eyes shifting to the unrecognizable lump.

"Get back!" Porthos ordered from the couch. "Get away from it!"

Dropping the broom, Athos pulled Aramis to his feet and drew him back away from the cat's carcass. He did not understand how that _thing_ could be Sylvie. Whatever it was, it had clearly been dead for some time. In fact, given the amount of decomposition, they should have smelled it long before now. With that thought, Athos tightened his grip on Aramis' arm and drew him back further still.

"Where's my phone?" Porthos asked once the pair had neared the couch. He kept his eyes glued to the thing as if he, too, thought it might come back to life at any second. 

Athos pressed Aramis down on the couch beside Porthos then grabbed the man's phone and handed it to him. As Porthos began scrolling through his contact list, Athos sat down next to Aramis, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders. He could only hope that Sylvie's demise was because of whatever attacked them and not something even worse. Aramis was entirely too close to a breakdown as it was and Athos didn't know how much more the man could take.

"Alright," Porthos said as he got off the phone. "Samara said she'd be here in an hour and to keep away from the thing until then."

"Samara?" Athos asked. He thought he recalled Porthos mentioning the name before but he couldn't be sure.

"A friend," Porthos said. "She's a Wiccan. Owns an new age shop over in Tualatin."

"And she can help us with this?" Aramis asked. He had never had any dealings with those of less mainstream faiths and was not sure what to expect. Given his current occupation, he had a feeling that was going to change.

"Maybe," Porthos shrugged. "If something supernatural is involved she probably can. Either way, I'd rather she have a look at the thing before we get near it again."

"We will not allow whatever attacked us to make us run," Aramis said, his mouth set in grim determination.

"No, we won't," Athos agreed. "But we will not let it goad us into recklessness either. We cannot save him if we fall too."

Aramis took a deep breath and sighed. "I know," he said, defeat coloring his words. "I know we must be cautious, but to sit here and do nothing while D'Artagnan is out there somewhere..."

Athos didn't replied, tightening his arm around his lover's shoulders instead. He wished for the hundredth time that there was something he could do to help reassure his lover but there was nothing. For while they would never stop trying to get d'Artagnan back, it was not a given that they would succeed. 

When Samara arrived, Athos showed her in. He took in the surprise on her features at the sight of him rather than Porthos greeting her, but she quickly masked it. She was tall for a woman, with a slim, willowy build. Her skin was the same dark caramel color as Porthos' and her hair ran in long waves down her back. 

She followed Athos into the living room, taking in the remaining signs of what had had happened as she did. Porthos quickly introduced everyone and gave her a brief run done on what had happened. She frowned worriedly when Porthos told her about the attack on Aramis, her eyes shifting to him of their own accord.

"I am alright," he said softly, touched by her obvious concern.

"You are certain the cat was alive before the attack?" She asked once Porthos had finished filling her in.

"Not right before," Aramis replied, "but she was alive just that morning when I fed her."

"And you've only been gone three days?"

"Yes," Athos replied. 

"So the most she could have been dead is three days," she said more to herself than them. 

"Correct," Athos said.

"Where is she?" Samara asked, getting to her feet and scanning the room.

Aramis stood as well and gestured toward the bookcase. "Over here," he said as he led her around the couch. 

Samara stopped in her tracks when she saw the carcass. There was no way this animal had only been dead for a few days. It looked like it had been dead for weeks, its body desiccated. Its face was frozen in a horrid grimace, as if the thing had died screeching and Samara found herself reluctant to move closer.

"Are you alright?" Aramis asked, his hand going to steady her without thought. 

As soon as Aramis touched her, she felt something sizzle along her veins. It felt like someone had touched a live wire to her skin and she gasped, pulling her arm from his grip. She stared at him, her dark eyes gone wide, as she searched for any sign to explain what she had just felt. When she looked back at the body of the animal, all the pieces fell into place. 

"Let's sit back down," Samara said.

"Well?" Porthos asked once they were all seated. 

"Your cat has been dead much longer than three days," she began. "If I had to guess, I would say it was much closer to three weeks, if not longer."

"How is that possible?" Athos asked. That was insane. He had seen the damn cat himself a few days ago.

"I believe that whatever attacked you here was using the cat as a host," she said. "That would explain a number of things."

"Like what?" Porthos asked.

"Like the reason it chose now to attack," she replied. "The cat's body could not longer sustain it. It was likely having to expend energy to animate the corpse. Even that has limits, however."

Aramis felt sick as he listened to Samara. Whatever had attacked them had been inside Sylvie. It had most likely been there from the beginning. He had actually brought this evil into their home himself. 

"Stop it," Porthos said brusquely. "I can hear you blaming yourself for this from here. It wasn't your fault, 'Mis."

"No?" Aramis challenged. "I brought that thing here. Who else is to blame if not me?"

"Porthos is right," Samara told him. "If you had not brought it in, it would have likely followed you and found a way in on its own. These things, once they choose a target, are relentless."

Aramis wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that it was not his fault that Porthos had nearly been killed. He wanted to believe that D'Artagnan was not out there, somewhere, lost and alone because of him. But it was hard to do when he was the one that had carried her in here.

"Aramis, listen to them," Athos urged. "This is not your fault."

Aramis opened his mouth to argue when a thought suddenly occurred to him. Ignoring Athos for the time being, he turned his attention back to Samara. "When I touched your arm, you felt something," he said. 

"Yes," she admitted. She was unsure if she should tell them about this or not, not wanting to upset the man even more. In the end, she had little choice. He needed to know to be able to defend himself. "Was the cat particularly close to you?"

"Yes," Aramis said, frowning in confusion. "She was with me all the time."

"Did she like to sleep with you?" She pressed. "Or at least in the same room as you?"

"Yes," Aramis replied. He glanced at Athos but saw that he was equally confused.

"That would explain where it got the energy to sustain the cat's body for so long," Samara said. She saw the uncomprehending looks on the three men and sighed. "It was feeding on you. It was not taking much at a time obviously but it was..."

"Feeding on him how?" Athos demanded as fear twisted in his stomach.

"On his life force," she replied. "It was siphoning off his life force. I felt it when he touched me. It likely formed a weak link with you because of it. Tell me, have you been unwell recently? Feeling tired regardless of how much you rested?"

"Yes," Aramis said, "but I've been ill. I had pneumonia."

"Ah," Samara said, nodding in understanding. "Your fatigue was due, at least in part, to its feeding. You most likely ended up with pneumonia in the first place because of it. It weakened you when it fed, leaving your body susceptible."

"Is he still linked to that thing?" Porthos asked, worried and enraged at the same time.

"No," Samara said firmly. "The link was broken when it was driven off."

"Thank God," Athos breathed. 

"This thing, you got any idea what it is?" Porthos asked, afraid of the answer but needing to know if there was a chance of getting D'Artagnan back.

"From what I've seen here, I'd guess some sort of demon maybe," she shrugged. "I'll have to do some research. If you're asking if your friend is still alive, I don't know. How long have you had the cat?"

"About four months or so," Aramis replied.

"Then it's certainly possible he's still alive. The cat survived until just a few weeks ago. A man, especially one who was young and strong, could survive a great deal longer."

"How do we get him back?" Aramis asked anxiously. He was more relieved than he could say that there was at least still a chance for D'Artagnan and he would do whatever it took to get him back.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I'll start doing some research and see what I can find out. Would it be alright if I took the cat's body with me? I may be able to tell something if I examine it more closely."

"Of course," Athos said. "Let me get something to put it in." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They waited a week before telling d'Artagnan's parents that he had gone missing. They had hoped they would have found him by now and thus would not have needed to say anything to them at all. Things had not turned out that way and they had to tell them something. 

Aramis had volunteered to go alone but neither Athos nor Porthos had been willing to let him. This was not his fault, no matter how much he might think it was, and they would not let him face d'Artagnan's parents on his own.

Now they were back, the deed done. They had told them that there was a misunderstanding, that things had grown heated and Aramis had been hurt, which accounted for the fresh scar marring his face. D'Artagnan, they had explained, had felt horrible for what had happened and had taken off. With all the confusion of getting Aramis to the hospital and his face seen to, they had not realized he had left. They had hoped he would come back on his own, which was why they had waited until now to tell them. 

His parents had been leery at first, especially his father. But one look at the devastation and worry in Aramis' eyes had convinced them that Aramis was telling the truth. As much as they hated lying to them, they knew it was for the best. His parents would likely not believe the actual truth regardless.

Athos pressed Aramis down onto the sofa, sitting down beside him while Porthos went to pour them all a drink. Talking with d'Artagnan's parents had been hell on all of them, but none more so than Aramis. He had even broken down, apologizing over and over again for what happened. When d'Artagnan's mother wrapped him in her arms and just held him, Athos felt his own eyes sting. 

"Drink this," Porthos said as he thrust a glass of amber liquid in front of Aramis. When Aramis took it, he handed another to Athos then sat down with one of his own. He winced when Aramis all but gulped the liquor down, though he could hardly blame the man. 

"We will find him," Athos vowed once more. They would not give up. They would find D'Artagnan and then they would find a way to restore him. Once he was back with them, if the thing that caused this still lived, it would be next.

"Before or after whatever is inside of him destroys him utterly?" Aramis asked, his voice so devoid of emotion that it sent chills down Athos' spine.

"Before," Porthos said firmly. "We ain't losin' him. We'll get him back, 'Mis, so don't you go giving up on him. Alright?"

"Alright," Aramis relented. He would do his best to do as Porthos and Athos said. He would hold on to his faith that they would get the young man back for to do anything else would be an insult to all of them. And he would pray.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six Weeks Later:


	2. Chapter 2

Six Weeks Later:

The demon grinned to itself as it watched the woman from the shadows of the alleyway. It had been watching her for over a week now, ever since it had discovered she, too, was trying to find the boy. It seemed that Athos was sparing no expense in locating him. First a private detective and now a witch. 

As it shrank back into the darkness waiting for the right moment to strike, it thought back on the private detective. He had been a veritable font of information. Without him, it likely would not have even known about the witch. At least it had taken care of the man before he could alert Athos as to what the witch was up to. Now all it had to do was make sure she was unable to impart her newfound knowledge to anyone.

As it waited, the demon tried to decide what it should do next. It could, of course, simply disappear again after taking care of things here. It knew the boy’s continued absence had to be a raw, aching wound for their precious Aramis. While it was an idea, it was growing tired of waiting. It was enjoying having such a young, strong body for once. It thought it was long past time dear d’Artagnan rejoined the trio. 

The demon’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Samara. She paused on the street corner, pulling out her cell phone and tapping her foot anxiously. It saw her frown then speak quickly into the phone before dropping it back into her bag and heading for her apartment building. The demon stayed where it was, watching. It had a good idea just who the witch had been calling. It was why she needed to die sooner rather than later. It couldn’t have the others making the connection too soon after all. It made sure that the witch's attention was focused on where she was going once more before slowly emerging from its hiding place. 

Grinning widely, it began pacing her, matching her footfalls while letting its longer stride slowly close the gap between them. It didn't really care if it caught up to her or not. It knew where she lived, after all. Besides, it would be too risky to take her out in the open. Its best course of action would be to come at her once she was in the building but before she made it inside her apartment. In this part of town, the police would take one look at the crime scene and likely label it a robbery gone wrong. 

Slipping into the building was easy enough. Then it was simply a matter of not being seen. Slowly, it followed her up the stairs to her floor. It stayed back, hiding in the shadows of an alcove until she was in front of her door. 

"Hello Samara," the demon said as it stepped out of the shadows. It smiled when it saw recognition widen her eyes. It chuckled when she began digging frantically in her bag for her keys, as if a door would be enough to keep it out. Still, humans were surprisingly hopeful creatures, often refusing to recognize the inevitable until the very end.

Samara tried to force herself to stay calm as she yanked her keys from her bag. She could hear the thing approaching as she unlocked the door, though she refused to so much as glance in its direction. To do so would waste precious seconds, seconds that she did not have. She knew she was no match for the demon but if she could get inside she might be able to drive it off.

She had just managed to turn the lock when a hand slammed into the doorframe beside her head. She screamed, shoving the door open and ducking down, trying to get past the thing, but he was too fast for her. She cried out again when a hand gripped her arm with inhuman strength then she was being spun around and thrown against the opposite wall so hard she lost her breath.

She tried to scream, to cry out, to do something, anything, but it was no use. She could hear her phone start to ring in her bag and knew it was Porthos. She fumbled at it only to have it jerked from her grasp and flung down the hall, well out of reach.

She saw the hall light reflecting off the blade of the knife a second before it was thrust into her chest. She saw the young man's eyes turn solid black as he slowly drew it back out. She didn't even feel it when he stabbed her a second time before stepping back and watching as she slid down the wall to end up in a broken heap on the floor. As she lay there, her face pressed to the dirty orange-brown carpet, her life blood slowly running out of her with every beat of her heart, she could only watch, her brown eyes dimming, as the young man's shoes receded down the hall, her phone still ringing faintly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aramis picked up his towel and wiped the sweat from his face. He was spending more and more time in his make-shift gym, taking his disappointment out on the heavy bag in the hopes of not doing likewise with his friends. It was not their fault that d'Artagnan's trail had gone cold. Even Athos' private investigator had nothing to report. It was in turns frustrating and terrifying as one horrible fate after another played itself out in both his mind and his dreams. 

It had taken him nearly two weeks before he was able to go back inside this room. Porthos had even gone so far as to start dismantling the equipment, thinking Aramis would never want to set foot in here again. That had been enough to rouse him from his stupor and give him the push he needed to force himself to confront what had happened there. Or try to at any rate. 

In the end, he and Porthos had put everything back, though they had rearranged the layout of the room. It was enough. The room was the same but not and Aramis found he could enter it once more without being assailed by memories. The fact that he could once more use this room seemed to be enough to convince the other two that he was "dealing" with things. They could not be more wrong. Even though Aramis knew he needed to face what had happened, to deal with it so he could heal and move on, he simply could not. All he could manage thus far was to shove the memories down so they did not swamp him during his waking hours. 

His inability to deal with the assault was affecting every aspect of his life, especially his relationship with Athos. Where once they had been lovers, now they were firmly back to friends with Athos barely touching him at all. Aramis didn't blame him, though. Every time anyone so much as brushed against him he nearly jumped out of his skin. He had tried to explain it, to tell Athos that is as not him, but the phantom traces of other touches that had him reacting so. 

Athos had told him he understood, that he would give Aramis all of the time and space he needed in order to heal. While Aramis knew he meant it, he was still disgusted with himself for needing to be coddled. It was almost to the point where he wanted to throw his hands up and ask Athos why he still bothered. 

Heading upstairs, he saw Porthos slipping his cell phone back into his pocket. "Something wrong?" he asked when he took in the slightly worried look on his friend's face.

"Nah," Porthos said. "Just trying to call Samara back. She left a message, said to call her right back but she's not answering. I'll try her again in the morning."

While Aramis went to shower after his workout, Athos sat down on the couch across from Porthos' easy chair. He studied the other man for long moments, trying to think of the best way to broach the subject. In the end, he decided for the direct approach.

"I am worried about you, my friend," Athos told him. 

"Don't be," Porthos said gruffly, trying to discourage any further discussion along this vein. 

"Porthos," Athos huffed, shaking his head. 

"What?" Porthos bristled. "You going to sit there and tell me not to feel guilty? You going to tell me this isn't my fault? That damn kid wouldn't have even been here if not for me."

"D'Artagnan is not a child," Athos replied calmly. He had been hoping to get Porthos to talk, to let out some of the emotions he was keeping bottled up inside of him. Athos knew first-hand how deadly such a practice could be and did not want to see his friend make the same mistakes he had. 

Porthos gaped at Athos. He opened his mouth to reply then closed it again. Athos was right about that much, d'Artagnan wasn't a child, but that didn't make him any less Porthos' responsibility. That didn't make his failure to protect him any easier to swallow.

"Porthos," Athos said again. "D'Artagnan knew the risks. It was his choice to stay here, to help us. Do I feel guilty that something has happened to him? Yes, of course I do. But wallowing in that guilt will not get him back."

"You know how long it's been since I had anything close to a family?" Porthos asked, his voice laced with a pain Athos had never heard before. "Since my mother died when I was a teenager. I vowed to myself, if I ever had a family again, I would take care of it, protect it. Now my little brother's out there someplace, going through God knows what all alone."

"He is not alone," Athos told him. "We are with him, in spirit if not body. D'Artagnan knows this. And he knows we'll come for him. He is my brother, too, Porthos. I will not lose him."

Porthos looked at Athos long and hard then, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the thinness of his cheeks. He was not the only one hurting over d'Artagnan's loss and it was high time he remembered that. "I'm sorry, brother," he said as he leaned forward and took Athos' hands in his own. 

"Do not apologize, but do not give in to despair. We need you, Porthos."

"I hear you, brother," Porthos replied. He glanced toward the bathroom then back at Athos. He could hear the shower still running so knew Aramis would be a little while yet. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not much to talk about really," Athos said. "He blames himself the same as we do. Add to that the repercussions of the attack and he is holding on by his fingernails."

"Have you tried to talk to him about what happened?"

"I tried, once, but he nearly had a panic attack. I have not tried since. I do not know if he simply cannot face such a possibility or if it is his guilt making him unable to deal with it. We do not..." Athos trailed off, looking away.

"What?" Porthos asked. He was glad Athos was finally talking about this. He had seen how different the pair acted around each other now. It was almost painful to watch, especially when he remembered how close they were before this.

"We do not touch," Athos admitted, looking at Porthos once more. "Whenever anyone touches him, he flinches still. I don't... I can't stand the thought of him flinching from me."

"Athos, man, how's he supposed to get past it if you're both avoiding it?" Porthos asked as gently as he could.

"I am not sure there is any getting past this, as you say," Athos said sadly. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful. I will take Aramis on whatever terms he needs me to. If our relationship must return to that of a more platonic nature, then so be it."

"Now who's giving up?" Porthos chided. 

"I am not giving up," Athos countered. "But I am a pragmatist. And I refuse to push a man who came within a hairsbreadth of being raped into something he is not ready for."

Aramis paused coming out of the bathroom. He did not mean to eavesdrop on his friends but it was readily apparent that they were discussing him. He hung his head, shame filling him, at the sound of defeat in Athos’ voice. He hated that he was doing this to him, that he was putting him through this all over again. He was trying to get past this, to put what had happened behind him, but he found the task more difficult than he would have thought. He had not been raped, after all. He had not even been badly hurt. He did not understand why he could not seem to let it go.

“I’m sorry,” Athos said from the hallway leading from the bathroom to the living room. “Why you continue to put up with such behavior from me is…”

“I love you,” Athos said, cutting him off as he rose from the couch and carefully approached his friend. This was something else that had changed. He was mindful of the way he approached Aramis now, not coming at him quickly or from behind but letting him see him nearing. 

“I’m sorry,” Aramis said again, looking down at the floor as Athos stopped just short of touching him. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Athos told him. “How you cope with this, how you heal from it, is not for me or anyone else to judge. I love you, Aramis. I will wait for you for as long as I need to. I told you that when we first started this. That has not changed simply because we made love one time.”

“Please don’t give up on me,” Aramis whispered, still resolutely staring at the floor as if afraid of what he might see if he dared look elsewhere.

“Never,” Athos vowed. “I will never give up on you. I will never leave you. If you need… need for things to go back to how they were before… If you need me to not touch you at all, you only have to tell me so.”

“No,” Aramis said brokenly. “I don’t want that. I swear I don’t, but…”

“But what?”

“But I don’t know what to do,” he huffed, angry at himself all over again. 

Slowly, Athos reached out and took Aramis’ hand in his. He did his best to ignore it when Aramis flinched, telling himself it was not him he was shying away from. “You take it one day at a time,” Athos said, doing nothing more than simply holding his hand. “You do not berate yourself for needing time to heal. You do not push yourself beyond your limits. I am here and I will wait for you forever if needs must.”

Aramis dared to raise his head and look at his lover then. The uncertainty he saw in Athos’ eyes made him ache inside. Under that, though, was all of the love and affection he had come to depend on from his friend. All he had to do was allow himself to trust it again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Porthos sighed as he watched Aramis staring in concentration at his laptop. He had been doing little else since he had gotten up that morning. While Porthos understood the reasons behind it, he still didn’t think it was good for the man to spend twelve hours a day hunched over a computer. 

Not that their new office wasn’t comfortable. Athos hadn’t scrimped when he had redone the place. Where their old hodgepodge of computers and desks had been now stood four matching desks set up in a U configuration. The thought of only setting up three workstations had not even occurred to them. They would get d’Artagnan back and when they did he would need a place to work. 

Aramis glanced up sharply when a cup of tea appeared on his desk without warning. He saw the look on Porthos’ face and ducked his head. He was doing the same thing with his research as he was doing with his workouts, using them to siphon off the worst of his feelings of frustration and vulnerability. 

“Come on,” Porthos said softly. “You been at that for hours. Time for a break.”

“Alright,” Aramis agreed, sliding his chair back and picking up his tea. “Is Athos still tied up with the insurance company?”

“Yeah,” Porthos grimaced. “He said it’d probably be tonight sometime before he was done.”

Aramis didn’t say anything as he sat down at one end of the couch. It was obvious that Porthos wanted to talk to him about something. Aramis was not at all sure he was ready for him to, though.

“You been researching something pretty hard lately,” Porthos began, hoping to get Aramis to talk to him. 

“Yes,” he nodded as he sipped his tea. He smiled softly when he realized it was chamomile sweetened with a touch of honey. Just the way he liked it. “The entity, when it attacked, it tried to take me first. It started to, in fact. I felt it. For some reason, it was unable to and took d’Artagnan instead. I mean to find out why.”

“’Mis, that wasn’t your fault,” Porthos said. He had heard the self-recrimination in his friend’s voice and wished there was something he could do to ease his pain. 

“Perhaps not,” Aramis said, conceding the point for now. “But there must have been a reason. Why could it take d’Artagnan but not me? Of the two of us, I should have been more susceptible.”

“Why do you say that?” Porthos asked, frowning.

“Because I know for a fact that d’Artagnan took Communion the last time he was at church. I have not done so since I left Seminary. Of the two of us, he should have been the more protected.”

“Well, maybe it’s got nothing to do with that,” Porthos offered. It was not the conversation he had hoped to have with Aramis but anything that got him engaging with them was worth it. 

“Then what does it have to do with?” Aramis asked. “Surely there must be something. My will is not so much stronger than his, if at all. And my status as the Resident Virgin has been quite thoroughly eradicated.” Aramis felt his cheeks blush hotly at the admission but refused to be deterred. It was relevant, after all.

“Ah, well, that’s good,” Porthos faltered, rubbing at the back of his neck. He saw Aramis turn away at his words and frowned again. “It is good, isn’t it?”

“In truth, I think it would have been better had we not,” Aramis admitted bitterly. “At least then Athos would not be so terribly disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Porthos repeated. He shook his head and stood then walked around the coffee table to sit down on the couch next to Aramis. He made sure to keep a sliver of space between them, but that was all he did. Aramis was never going to get used to people touching him again if no one ever did. Still, Porthos knew to tread carefully. His friend was still recovering from a violent attack.

“He cannot even touch me now,” Aramis said softly. He had tensed slightly when Porthos sat down but had relaxed when the man did nothing more than that.

“You’ve been through Hell, Aramis. Athos knows this. He isn’t disappointed in you. He’s worried about you. He loves you more than he knows what to do with and he can’t help you. That’s all.”

“I don’t deserve him,” Aramis began but Porthos ruthlessly cut him off.

“Bullshit! Don’t give me that crap. You deserve to be loved as much as anybody else.”

“There are any number of people who would disagree with you. Quite vehemently, in fact. My grandmother…”

“Your grandmother is the devil in an old-lady-suit,” Porthos shot back. “Her opinion doesn’t mean fuck-all.”

Aramis choked on a laugh and gaped at the other man. “You have quite the way with words, my friend,” he managed after a moment. 

“Yeah, well, it’s the truth. You’ll get past this, brother. We’ll help you get past it. So don’t you go giving up. You wouldn’t give up on d’Artagnan so don’t you dare give up on Athos.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Athos finally made it home that night, he was surprised to find Aramis sitting on the couch apparently waiting for him. He glanced about but saw no sign of Porthos. A sudden wave of fear washed over him and, for one brief moment, he considered turning around and walking back out the door. He was not at all sure he wanted to hear whatever it was that Aramis quite obviously wanted to tell him.

“Are you truly that afraid to even approach me now?” Aramis asked from the couch. He made no move to get up, the stark fear in Athos’ eyes holding him back.

“Not so much you as whatever it is that you are about to tell me,” Athos replied honestly. 

Taking a breath, he locked the front door and hung his coat beside it then walked over to where Aramis sat. He started to sit down on the opposite end, to give Aramis space, but the man held his hand out toward him, stopping him.

“Sit with me?” Aramis asked as he held his hand out for Athos.

Athos looked at Aramis’ hand then his eyes. Aramis had not initiated contact with any of them beyond checking their injuries since the attack. Hoping this was a good sign and not his lover trying to soften some coming blow, he took Aramis’ hand and let himself be pulled down next to him.

Aramis could not stop himself from stiffening when Athos joined him but he refused to give in, instead tightening his grip on Athos’ hand so the man could not pull away. He had run the words he wanted to say over in his head a dozen times but now that Athos was here, his mind was annoyingly blank. 

“If you are leaving me,” Athos began when Aramis failed to speak, his voice strangled as he forced the words out. “I will get down on my knees and _beg_ for another chance.”

“Athos, no,” Aramis said, horrified at the very thought. 

Athos let out a shuddering breath at his lover’s reassurance and sagged back against the couch. He had been fearing just that for weeks now and truly had not known what he would do if Aramis told him he simply could not do this anymore. 

Aramis looked down at their joined hands for a moment and finally managed to find his voice again. “I would like to talk to you,” he began, swallowing thickly. 

“Alright.” Athos could see what a struggle this was for his lover so simply waited, giving Aramis the time he needed.

Gathering his courage, Aramis began. His words came out much more formal than he wanted but, for now, he was thankful just to be able to get them out at all. “I need you to listen to me for a bit as there are some things I need to say to you. First, I love you. That has not changed and it will not. I told you once before that you were everything to me. That still holds true. I know I have been distant of late and I am sorry.”

“Don’t,” Athos broke in, unable to listen to Aramis apologize for needing to heal. “Do not apologize for needing time. I will not hear it.”

“Alright,” Aramis said, smiling slightly. “I am sorry that it is taking me so long, though. It is not fair to you.”

“I don’t care about what’s fair,” Athos told him. “I care about you. If you need time, then you’ll have it. I love you more than anything, Aramis.”

“I know. That is one of the few things I have not doubted during all of this. I also know that it hurts you when I shy away from your touch. I do not mean to, but I cannot help myself.”

“I hate the thought of you being afraid of my touch,” Athos admitted, relieved they were finally talking about this. 

“Oh Athos, no,” Aramis shook his head. “It is not that. I am not afraid of you. Not at all.”

“Then why do you flinch when I touch you?” Athos asked.

“Because my mind does not realize it is you that touched me, not at first,” Aramis tried to explain. “By the time it does, I have already jerked away.”

“I thought…”

“You thought what?” Aramis asked, almost afraid to know.

“I thought you were afraid of me, of what I might try to do,” Athos replied. “That I might try to touch you in some way you were not ready for.”

“That, my love, would never happen. You would never touch me in any way I did not expressly invite. I know this. As I said, it is not you I am flinching from, but rather the shadows in my mind that refuse to dissipate.”

Deciding to take a chance, and trusting in Aramis to tell him if he was pushing, Athos squeezed his hand and stood. “Wait here,” he said as he crossed over to the stereo. He scanned their collective CD’s until he found Porthos’ soundtrack to Phantom of the Opera. 

Walking back over to the couch, he held out his hand for Aramis. “May I have this dance?” he asked.

Aramis felt himself blushing slightly, but he took Athos’ proffered hand. He kept his eyes firmly on Athos as the man slowly pulled him close and was relieved when he did not react for once. Letting his free hand come to rest on Athos’ hip, he let his head rest against the man’s shoulder as Athos gently swayed them to the music.

They stayed like that through that song and the next, barely moving, holding each other more than dancing really. Neither man cared, though. It felt too good to be like this again, something that both of them had despaired of in their hearts. 

Finally, Aramis lifted is head and regarded his lover. Athos looked more content than Aramis had seen him since this whole nightmare began. The haunted look in his eyes had gone, replaced with a sense of wonder that made Aramis blush when he realized he was the cause of it. For himself, Aramis knew this wasn’t over. He was not miraculously better all of a sudden. But it was a start.

Athos could not believe how different things had gone than how he had feared when he first walked through the door and saw Aramis awaiting him. He felt almost giddy with relief. He knew he would still need to be mindful, that Aramis was still suffering from the after-effects of his ordeal, but at least now he had hope again.

“May I kiss you?” Athos asked cautiously as the second song ended. This was another thing he had not done since the attack but he would understand if Aramis was still not ready.

Aramis stared at his lover, surprised by his request. It was on the tip of his tongue to say of course then reality came crashing in along with memories that made his stomach knot painfully. He had to look away then, too ashamed to meet Athos’ eyes.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” Athos asked. Aramis had not pulled away from his embrace for all that he would not look at him now.

“I… I am… am not sure…”

“If it is too soon, you need only say so,” Athos told him.

“It is not that,” Aramis said. He could feel tears stinging his eyes at the memory of his attack. That thing wearing the guise of his friend had forced him to yield to it, had forced him to open his mouth and allow…

“Aramis. Aramis… Sweetheart… it’s alright,” Athos soothed as Aramis first tensed then began to shake in his arms. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to upset you like this. Please, love.”

“It is not you,” Aramis managed. “I… It… The memories… It made me… made me allow it to-to-to…”

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Athos said, rubbing his hand up and down Aramis’ back in an attempt to calm him. He had not meant to upset him like this, to remind him of what that thing had done to him. 

“No, it isn’t,” Aramis said as he laid his head back on Athos’ shoulder. 

“Yes, it is,” Athos told him. “I did not mean to push you into something you were not ready for. I will wait for you, love.”

“Wait for me?” Aramis asked, stunned. He leaned back then and started at Athos. “Why would you want to? After that thing… after it…”

“Sweetheart, no,” Athos said, pulling him back against him and pressing his head to his shoulder, knowing Aramis would find it easier to talk this way. “You think I won’t want to kiss you anymore because of what that thing tried to do?”

Aramis only nodded, too overcome by everything to speak. Before all of this happened, Athos had been the only one to ever touch him in such a manner. Now, that was no longer true and that knowledge shamed Aramis so badly he could hardly breathe with the weight of it at times.

“You could not be more wrong, you know,” Athos said, his voice still soft and gentle. “There will never be a time when I do not welcome your kiss. If you are not ready for it, then that is fine. But do not hold yourself back, do not deny yourself, because you think I do not want you.”

Slowly, Aramis raised his head and regarded Athos. He could see the calm acceptance in his eyes as well as the unshakable certainty. He meant what he said. He wanted Aramis’ kisses still, even after all that had happened. Swallowing once more, Aramis slowly leaned forward. He gave Athos every chance to turn away but his lover did not, merely holding himself still and allowing Aramis to do as he would. 

As kisses went, it was not much of one, even by Aramis’ limited experience. It was little more than the soft press of lips against each other. When Aramis pulled back and looked at Athos once more, however, the man looked awed. Aramis felt the color rise in his cheeks again as he laid his head back down and simply let his lover hold him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Porthos! Porthos, you need to see this!” Aramis shouted as he grabbed the remote and turned up the volume on the TV. A newscast had stated a woman had been found dead outside of her apartment building in Tualatin. When they had flashed up a picture of the woman, Aramis had recognized Samara at once. 

“What is it?” Porthos asked as he came over to stand next to Aramis. 

Before he could reply, the newscaster came back on, a picture of Samara next to him. Porthos watched in stunned silence as the man outlined what they assumed to have happened. According to police reports, it was being considered a mugging gone wrong. The newsman went on to give statistics on the increases in such crimes as the holidays drew nearer. With Christmas only a week away, the police considered it obvious.

“She… she called me,” Porthos said, sitting down hard on the couch as the reality of his friend’s death hit him. “Earlier that day. You remember, right?”

“You were trying to call her back, but she did not answer,” Aramis said gently as he sat down next to the other man. 

“You don’t think… I mean…”

“No, my friend,” Aramis said at once. He had a moment to realize that he had no way to actually know that for a fact, that Porthos could have indeed been calling her during her attack, but he held his tongue. That knowledge would do no one any good, least of all Porthos.

“She didn’t deserve to have something like that happen to her,” Porthos went on, seemingly comforted by Aramis’ reassurance. “She was good people. Always helping somebody, you know?”

“She seemed like the type, yes. When she was here, I know she was worried for all of us though she had not even met us.”

“Yeah. She always worried about everyone else,” Porthos said as memory after memory assailed him. He and Samara had been over a long time ago but, for a while, they had been quite close. 

“I am so sorry for you loss, my friend,” Aramis said, reaching out and covering Porthos’ hands with his own. “The living always feel so helpless when faced with death. We run from it all our lives, yet we are still surprised when it catches up to us. Is there anything I can do? Anyone you would like me to call perhaps?”

“Nah,” Porthos said, shaking himself out of his thoughts and giving Aramis’ hands a gentle squeeze in return. “Samara only had her mom and she’s been gone for a while now. She’s pretty close with the girl she owns the shop with but I’m sure she knows already.”

“Alright,” Aramis said. “Just remember, we are here for you if you need us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The demon stood across the street, watching, the steadily lengthening shadows providing all the cover it needed to remain unseen. It’s preternaturally sharp eyes shifted from the boy’s soft brown to ebon black, penetrating the evening gloom and allowing it to easily see the second floor balcony where Aramis, the Priest, sat. So sharp was its vision, it could even see the faint whiffs of the Priest’s breath as he sat alone in the cold. 

Poor little Aramis. It could almost feel his pain from here. It smirked as it wondered where the Survivor was. Surely he was not so foolish as to leave his precious Aramis unguarded. It had already proven that not even their home was safe. You would have thought the fool had learned that lesson quite well by now. 

Alas, if it had to give the man yet another practical demonstration, it did not mind. This time, it might even use the big one. Maybe when the Survivor could only watch helplessly as it bled his last protector dry, he would finally understand. 

It was immortal. It had existed since before the dawn of man. It would exist long after their pestilent race was wiped from the face of the Earth. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he or anyone else could do to stop it.

As it watched Aramis on the balcony, it felt the first stirrings of arousal within the boy’s body. It chuckled as it thought about its host, how horrified he would be to find out what he had done. It was tempting to let him come back a bit, to let him see the effects of his handiwork, but it knew better. There was simply too much at state to risk such a move now. Perhaps later, when the Priest was completely at its mercy, then it would let the boy come back and see what ruin he had wrought.

By the time it was done with him, the Priest would have a great many scars adorning him. It thought it might leave his face as it was. That single, jagged scar stood out boldly from the rest of his untouched face, drawing the eye of all he encountered. 

Back in the old days, a Priest such as him would have already been a patchwork of scars, either laid down by his own hand or that of his elders. Nowadays, the church had grown soft, as had the men tasked with guarding their flocks. Had not this one been nearly destroyed from nothing more than a few unwanted touches? Would he even survive being strung up by his arms and whipped until the blood ran down his back in rivulets?

A thought occurred to the demon then and it bit back a laugh. The precious virgin had only ever let the Survivor touch him willingly. He professed to love him, to be so devoted to him as to yield his body to him. It wondered as it continued to watch Aramis, licking its lips in sudden, aching want, just what it could make him do. There was little doubt that he would die to protect the man, but would he debase himself for the sake of his lover? Would he offer up his own body in trade, willing allowing himself to be made a whore? 

The thought of it was enough to have its cock hardening. It could well imagine the terror in his eyes as it forced him to perform one obscene act after another in the hopes that the Survivor’s life might be spared. Perhaps, if the big one was still alive, it could make him do the honors while it forced the Survivor to watch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Constance wiped her eyes for the fourth time in five minutes. She shoved the tissue she was using back into her sweater pocket angrily as she once more began trying to balance the books. She knew Samara would not want her crying over her like this, would in fact be quite put out with her for it. Samara, however, was dead and therefore unable to berate Constance for anything anymore.

Slamming the ledger closed, she shoved it away from her so hard it toppled off the other side of the table. That only served to make her angrier still and she shot to her feet, kicking her chair back to clatter to the floor behind her. She picked up the mug of tea she had been drinking, intent on hurling it against the nearest wall when the words on the mug made her pause. 

_Best Friends_. 

Samara had given her the stupid thing for Christmas last year. The store had been doing poorly and they could not afford much. In truth, they couldn’t even afford that at the time, but Samara refused to let Christmas come and go without giving her something to show how much she meant to her. 

Constance had hated the thing on sight. It was garish and kitschy, with big kissy lips printed over the words. She had taken one look at it and opened her mouth to say just that when she had seen the look in her friend’s eyes and, before she even realized what she was doing, she was telling Samara how much she loved the thing. From that moment on, she never had her tea in anything else. 

Setting the mug back down with wildly trembling hands, Constance sank down to the floor and let loose the tears that had been trying to break free all day. She cried for her friend, for the fear and pain she had felt in her last moments. She cried for the fact that Samara had died alone, with no one there to comfort her. She cried for everyone Samara helped and everyone she would have helped had she only lived long enough to do so. And she cried for herself, for the loss of the best friend she had ever had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Athos was starting to worry. The private investigator he had hired to find d’Artagnan had not reported in for over a week now. While he was rather certain the man had nothing new to report, it was still unlike him not to touch base. Athos had warned him not to approach d’Artagnan, not to let him know he even existed, that if he did become aware of him, he was to let Athos know at once. He knew d’Artagnan’s age coupled with his slight build would cause most to discount him as a threat. In this circumstance, that could very well be deadly.

He considered hiring another detective to look for the first but hesitated. The more people he brought into this, the more people he endangered. It would not necessarily be just them he was endangering either. These men had families, loved ones. Athos knew the demon would not hesitate to strike out at them if it was cornered. 

In the end, he decided to wait. He would give it another week. If he had not heard from Jeremy by then, he would begin making inquiries. He had his last location. He would start from there and see where it led. For now, all he could do was wait and keep his guard up.


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos looked up from his laptop, frowning, when the buzzer for the front door sounded. It was Saturday afternoon and the three of them had just finished lunch. He glanced at the others and saw identical looks on their faces.

"You expecting anyone?" Porthos asked as he got to his feet.

"No," Athos replied as Aramis shook his head. He opened his desk drawer and slipped his hand inside to grip the bottle of Holy Water secreted within.

"I do not think the demon would ring the bell," Aramis commented, though he too took hold of the rosary around his neck.

"Yeah, well, I'm not taking any chances," Porthos said, picking up the bat they had placed in the corner next to the door. Pressing a button on the alarm panel activated the camera set up outside the building. When the black and white screen came to life, it showed a man dressed as a priest with salt and pepper hair.

"Who is it?" Athos asked, his hand tightening without thought.

"A priest," Porthos replied. "You sure you weren't expecting anyone?"

"Yes," Aramis said as he rose. He went to the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Father Stefan on the screen. "It's Father Stefan. It's alright, you can let him in."

Porthos set the bat down and buzzed the priest inside. He stepped away from the door then, not wanting to seem like they were crowding the man. He was relieved when Athos joined him as they waited for the man to come up.

Aramis opened the door then paused for a moment, looking his friend over. The sight of the rosary hanging about his neck gave him some reassurance and he smiled as he led him inside. He introduced Athos and Porthos then led the man over to the couch while the other two returned to their work. He knew the pair would likely be listening but he did not mind.

"What brings you here, my friend?" Aramis asked once they were seated.

"I just wanted to check on you," Stefan told him, eying him carefully. He had caught a glance of the livid scar on Aramis’ face but he made no mention of it. "I haven't seen you in weeks. You or your young friend. I was getting worried."

Aramis felt his heart lurch at the mention of d'Artagnan. He had to shut his eyes to keep his emotions at bay. He did not want to break down in front of Stefan. Besides that, it would only cause Athos to worry even more.

When Aramis turned his face away, Stefan got a good look at the scar adorning his cheek. He felt his own heart plummet at the thought of what might have happened. "Talk to me, Aramis," he beseeched softly.

"There... there was..." Aramis began, unsure how to go about explaining what had happened. He knew Stefan believed, especially after the incident with the Mendoza family, but he was still finding it difficult.

"We were attacked," Athos said as he stood and moved to join them, sitting down next to Aramis on the couch. "As far as we can tell, a... a demon or something similar attacked us."

"When was this?" Stefan asked, fear for these men squeezing him painfully.

"About two months ago," Porthos said as he, too, joined them.

"Is that how you were hurt?" Stefan asked Aramis gently.

"Yes," Aramis replied as he took Athos' hand. "It... the demon... it was hiding in a cat I had brought home. When it attacked... it tried to take me. For whatever reason, it could not. And it... it..."

"It took d'Artagnan," Athos finished for him.

"My God," Stefan whispered, crossing himself. "Is he the one who..."

"Yeah," Porthos replied. "He knocked me out and trapped Athos then went after Aramis. We got there in time to stop him from doing anything worse but he managed to get away."

"Where is he now?" Stefan asked.

"We don't know," Aramis said miserably. "We cannot find him. We are searching, but if the demon does not wish to be found, it will not be."

"No," Stefan said. "You are right there. These things are crafty. They are old and clever and powerful. Luckily for us, they are also conceited. They think themselves above the power of God. They are wrong."

"Oh Stefan, I am so scared for him," Aramis admitted, his fears rushing out in the presence of the man's understanding and belief.

"As are we all," Stefan said. He reached toward Aramis, to take his hand, but Porthos' hand on his arm stopped him.

"'Mis doesn't do well being touched right now," Porthos warned him.

Stefan's eyes shot to Aramis and the shame he saw there made him ache. "Oh my son," he said softly. "It did more than simply cut your face, didn't it?"

"Yes," Aramis answered weakly, unable to say more.

"I am so sorry," Stefan said as he folded his hands in his lap, making it clear he would not attempt to touch Aramis again without his permission. "You will get past this, Aramis. Neither God nor these men will allow you to fail. Trust in Him and trust in them until you can trust in yourself again."

"Thank you, Father," Aramis said.

"Tell me, gentlemen, is there anything I can do for you?" Stefan asked, looking between the other two men. He had not missed the protective way the pair seemed to close ranks around Aramis and it gave him hope. With men such as these by his side, he would find the strength to heal.

"Not at the moment," Athos replied. "Though we may need to call upon your expertise at some point. Aramis has said there are certain books that the church keeps under tight control. He does not have access to them but he thought you might."

"I know what you are speaking of," Stefan said somewhat warily. "I am not sure if I can procure the tomes. As you said, the church is very strict about who has access to them. But excerpts have been taken from them and published elsewhere. I will see if I can put together a list of other books that might have what it is you are looking for."

"Are you sure that's, well, allowed?" Porthos asked, surprised at the Priest's willingness to help them.

"No," Stefan said, chuckling softly. "But what we do not tell the Bishop can be repented of in Confession."

"Thank you, Stefan," Aramis said.

Stefan stood then and shook hands with Athos and Porthos. He turned toward the door when a hand on his arm stopped him. Turning back, he saw Aramis regarding him. Before he could say anything, Aramis pulled him into a quick hug then released him and stood back.

"I will get you that list," he promised.

"Well," Porthos began once Stefan had left and the place was locked up again. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither was I," Aramis replied, sitting down on the couch once more and leaning his head back.

"He is a good man," Athos commented. He, too, was surprised by the outcome of Stefan's visit. After both his and Aramis' prior experiences, he had expected a bit more reluctance from the church and those affiliated with it.

"He is," Aramis confirmed. "He told me, had he been my advisor he would have seen me out of Seminary much sooner."

"Come again?" Porthos growled.

"It was nothing like that," Aramis told him quickly. "But he could see that I was in love with Athos even then. At the very least, he would have counseled me on it and had me truly think about what it was I wanted in life."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It saw the priest walking out of the building and tilted its head in curiosity. Now what could the good Father have wanted, it wondered. Perhaps it should pay him a visit. After all, the man had been quite concerned about the boy when he had been injured.

Carefully, it followed the priest. It was not that it needed to track him, rather it was curious as to what the others might have told the man. Unlike most of his brethren, this one believed. Not that he would prove a threat. Even if he did believe, he simply was not strong enough. Still, it did not know how high within the church this one was. He could have access to things that it would rather the Priest not get his hands on.

Watching from the park across the street, it saw the priest enter his church. That was fine. It had patience. It would wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Father Stefan blew out the last of the candles and locked up the church for the night. He was tired. The day had been a long one and his visit with Aramis had done little to ease his mind. In fact, he was now more worried for the young man and his friends than ever.

In the rectory, Stefan sat down at the computer. He needed to do some more research, see if the church would actually give him access to the tomes in question, but for now he knew of a few resources that might help Aramis and his friends. He was just finishing an email to him when the creak of the front door opening made him freeze.

Swallowing thickly, Stefan hit send and closed his laptop. Pushing back from his desk, he said a quick prayer then headed back toward the entryway. He tried to tell himself that he had not closed the door completely and it was merely the wind, but he knew that for the lie it was. He had not only closed the door but locked it as well. It had not come open of its own accord.

"Hello Father," the thing wearing d'Artagnan's face said as it took a step out of the shadows.

"Hello d'Artagnan," Stefan replied. "Or is there perhaps another name I should call you by?" There was no use in pretending. He could see it in the creature's eyes. If he did manage to live through this, however, any knowledge he gained could be crucial.

"D'Artagnan will suffice," it laughed. "I doubt you could pronounce my true name and it would not do you any good regardless."

"Let the boy go," Stefan said, his hand going to the rosary about his neck.

"No," it said. "I like this body. It's young and strong. I could ride this one for years before he finally perished. Just think of all the fun I could have."

"We will stop you," Stefan told it as he held his rosary before him as a shield.

"No, you won't," it countered. "In fact, _you_ won't be doing much of anything any longer."

"You will not defeat him. Aramis is strong and his friends will fight for him."

"I'm rather counting on that," it said. Suddenly, it smiled, its eyes turning jet black. It held up one of its hands, its fingers spread wide. Its eyes locked on the priest in front of it, it slowly began to close its fist.

Stefan felt his heart start to hammer in his chest. He watched, horror widening his eyes, as the thing before him slowly closed its hand. He gasped as white-hot pain lanced through his chest. It felt like bands of steel were tightening around his heart, squeezing it painfully. He began to pant, unable to draw a full breath, as the thing continued to close its hand.

Turning back toward his study, Stefan managed a few stumbling steps before crashing into the sideboard and falling to his knees. He couldn't breathe. His heart felt like it was in a vise. He went down to his hands and knees, tried to crawl, but his strength gave out and he found himself on the floor panting on his side.

_I'm so sorry, Aramis. Forgive me,_ he thought as the thing wearing young d'Artagnan's face came to stand over him. He had time for a single brief prayer before the demon closed its fist on Stefan's heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aramis stared at his reflection in the mirror that hung over the bedroom dresser. He could not help but wince at the sight of his scarred face. He had never been a vain man, never prideful about his looks, but he had known he was handsome. More importantly, he had known that Athos considered him handsome. Now, however, he could not help but feel ugly. 

He knew it was ridiculous. They had so much more important things to worry about than a scar on his face. That did not stop him from flinching every time he caught a glimpse of himself, though. Nor did it stop him struggling to meet Athos’ eyes at times, ashamed of the ugliness reflected back at him.

As they got into bed that night, Aramis was noticeably antsy. The visit from Father Stefan had left him on edge, though he was unsure why. He tried to tell himself that it was only the memories of the attack that had him so bothered but he knew that was not entirely true. He considered calling Stefan but hesitated. The man was worried enough about him without Aramis calling him in the dead of night. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Athos asked as he laid down in the bed next to Aramis. They were both on their backs, a sliver of space left between their arms. When Aramis failed to reply, Athos tried again. “It does not matter to me. Your scar, that is.”

“I deserve it,” Aramis said softly. “It is my penance.”

“You’re wrong,” Athos told him, putting as much conviction into his voice as he could while still speaking softly.

“I feel as though it is,” Aramis said. “It is my penance for allowing the demon to escape, for failing to protect d’Artagnan, for… for everything.”

“You’re wrong,” Athos told him again. “It isn’t some sign of failure on your part and it doesn’t make you any less, not in my eyes. You are as beautiful to me today as you ever were.”

“That is not saying much,” Aramis huffed, but Athos’ words had the desired effect as he felt some of his worries fading. Gathering his courage, he took Athos’ hand and squeezed it.

“I am here for you,” Athos said, squeezing back. “However you need me to be.”

“Athos…” Aramis began then stopped and tried again. “Will you hold me?”

Athos didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled Aramis toward him until the man was laying sprawled half atop him, his head pillowed on Athos’ shoulder. They lay like that for a while, both of them taking comfort in the feel of the other.

“You should cut your losses already,” Aramis said, giving voice to his fear as his head rested on Athos’ shoulder. “I am not worth such effort.”

Athos stiffened at his lover’s words then forced himself to relax. “You are worth everything to me,” he told him. “I am not leaving you, Aramis. Your scars do not matter to me. They don’t make you less in my eyes. Nothing could ever make you less to me.”

Aramis didn’t reply, but he did not move to pull away. Athos considered that a step in the right direction at least. They soon fell asleep like that, still wrapped in each other’s arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aramis moaned in his sleep, instinctively pushing further into Athos' embrace, as if trying to somehow hide from the scenes his subconscious forced him to relive. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to escape as the memories assailed him.

_He was running, the demon in the guise of his friend not far behind. He could hear it following along after him, almost carelessly strolling, yet no matter how fast Aramis ran, the demon only drew closer._

_He had to find someplace to go to ground, to hide, before the thing found him. He knew what the thing planned to do to him, he had seen it in its eyes. He could not let that happen. He did not think he could survive it if it did._

_He threw himself down the stairs and crashed through the doors to the gym, nearly stumbling in his haste. He looked about wildly for someplace to hide but the place was completely baren. All of the equipment, the mats, everything was gone._

_"The more you run, the worse you make it for yourself," the demon said as it sauntered through the doors._

_Aramis spun around in panic. When had the thing gotten so close? He tried to take a step back but its hand shot out, grabbing him by the arm and jerking him forward and causing him to cry out in equal parts pain and terror._

_"I'm going to fuck you till you bleed," the demon said before taking Aramis' mouth in a brutal kiss._

"Stop... please..." Aramis cried out in his sleep. He felt Athos' arm tighten around him, rousing him enough to make the nightmare dissipate. Aramis' respite was short-lived, though, as his mind refused to let him rest.

_Aramis frowned as he looked around the unfamiliar living room. He had no idea where he was or what he was doing there. As he looked around for some sign, he heard a sound from another room. Hoping to find out what was going on, he headed toward it. When he stepped through the doorway and into the kitchen, he thought his heart might stop. He shook his head in desperation, praying that his eyes were deceiving him._

_Slumped against the wall were his mother and father. His mother was dressed in the simple blue dress she had been wearing the day of the accident. Blood soaked the front of it, turning the cornflower blue to a hideous purple. His father’s white shirt was stained as well, blood still running sluggishly from the gaping hole across his throat._

_Tearing his eyes away from his dead parents, Aramis looked toward the kitchen table. There, sprawled on her back, lay his sister Julia. He could see the terror in her dark eyes as she looked toward him, begging him to save her. D'Artagnan, his eyes black as night, stood between her legs as she struggled weakly. One of the man's hands held her down by the throat while the other held a long kitchen knife high above her head. Aramis barely managed a single step before d'Artagnan plunged the knife home, burying it to the hilt in little Julia’s chest._

"No!" Aramis screamed, bolting upright in bed, his chest heaving as the last vestiges of the dream faded. 

"What? What is it?" Athos said, coming awake with a start at the sound of his lover's scream.

Still coming awake, Aramis looked about the room frantically for any sign of his family or the demon. When he realized he was alone with Athos and safe in their bed, he let out a sob. At the first touch of a hand on his arm, he jerked away, unable to help himself. In the next moment, he wrapped his arms around his middle and all but doubled over in the bed as everything came crashing in on him at once.

Athos cringed when Aramis recoiled from his touch. He was about to get up, thinking Aramis might want some space when he saw his lover start to fold in on himself. Without thought, he grabbed Aramis and pulled him into his arms, refusing to let the man pull away from him. A heartbeat later, Aramis wrapped his arms around Athos, holding him tight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aramis was still a bit subdued as he put dinner in the oven. His nightmare had left him on edge all day, so much so that he jumped when the phone rang. He went to answer it though, waiving the other two away. He had gotten Stefan’s email with the preliminary list of references that morning once they had finally emerged from their room and had divvied the research up between the three of them. 

Aramis hoped it was Stefan calling to let them know if he was going to be able to access the tomes personally. It would certainly cut down on the amount of research required if they could get their hands on the source material. Reaching for the phone, he frowned when he saw the Mendozas’ number on the caller ID. 

He had barely lifted the receiver to his ear when he heard a woman weeping. He called out to Mrs. Mendoza, trying to get her calm down and tell him what had happened. He heard the sound of the phone being taken from her then her husband was on the line.

By the time Aramis hung up the phone, he was shaking. Athos and Porthos had come to stand next to him when they realized something was wrong. Both men were glad they did as they watched the color drain from Aramis’ face.

“What happened?” Porthos asked as he took Aramis by the arm and pulled him toward the couch. The fact that Aramis had not flinched at all when Porthos took hold of him only increased his worry.

“Father Stefan,” Aramis began, the words so soft they could barely hear them. 

“Aramis?” Athos called when his lover said no more.

“Stefan is dead,” Aramis said, looking up at both men as they stood in front of where Porthos had pushed him down on the couch.

“What? When?” Porthos asked in disbelief.

“Early this morning, they think,” Aramis said flatly. “They found him in the rectory. It… they think it was a heart attack."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic depictions of violence and animal cruelty.

The funeral was a somber event. The Mendoza family was there as was most of Father Stefan's congregation. He had been a good man and a good priest and he would be sorely missed by all who knew him. Sitting through the Mass, Aramis could not help but wonder if he was somehow cursed. It seemed that everyone who knew him, who tried to help him, ended up paying for it. First d'Artagnan, then Porthos' friend and now Stefan.

A touch on his arm broke him out of his revere and he looked at Athos. He took in his lover's worried face and tried to dredge up a smile for him. From the look Athos gave him, he was somewhat less than successful.

"Come on," Athos said softly as he and Porthos helped Aramis to his feet. "There's nothing more we can do here. Let's go home."

Aramis nodded, still overwhelmed by everything that had happened. Stefan had been his friend, one of the few people within the church who knew him and understood. He had a moment to wonder who he would turn to for spiritual guidance now then immediately chastised himself for such selfish thoughts. Stefan was dead! Stefan was dead and all he could think about was how it affected him. 

"Stop it," Porthos told him as they headed toward his truck. "I can see from the look on your face that you're getting down on yourself about something."

"I was lamenting the fact that I had lost my only real confidant within the church," Aramis said, still disgusted with himself. "Then I realized how incredibly selfish that was..."

"There is nothing selfish about such thoughts," Athos said. "It is only natural to wonder what you will do now. It is not selfish and it is not disrespectful to Stefan's memory. In truth, it is a testament to the man that he would be deemed so wholly irreplaceable."

Aramis pulled Athos into his arms and hugged him. He kept the hug brief, much briefer than he wanted, but he did not want to end up causing a scene here. "Take me home," he said softly, suddenly needing to be someplace where he could bask in Athos' comfort without worry.

Porthos wasted no time in getting them home after that. Athos had climbed into the back seat with Aramis. Porthos was glad. He could see how hard this was on the man and he knew having Athos close would help. He wished there was something he could do to help as well but, other than get them safely back home, he was at a loss. 

“Tea or bourbon?” Porthos asked as they entered the loft. He immediately began pulling off the tie Athos had loaned him. How people wore these things every day he had no idea. It felt like he was being slowly strangled. 

“Tea,” Athos said. While he knew Aramis would probably benefit from a good dose of bourbon, he didn’t want to drink. If he started right now, he would not stop and Aramis needed him.

Porthos nodded and put the kettle on then walked into his bedroom to change. When he came back out, the other two were just coming out of their room, having changed into more comfortable sweats. 

“Thank you,” Aramis said when Porthos handed him a cup of tea after sitting down on the couch. 

“You alright, brother?” Porthos asked then shook his head. They had just come from a funeral, of course Aramis wasn’t alright.

“No,” Aramis said, smiling sadly. “But I will be. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Athos asked when Aramis trailed off, a pained look on his face.

“I am afraid,” Aramis said softly. “I am afraid the next funeral we go to will be for d’Artagnan.”

“That is _not_ going to happen,” Porthos said firmly. “We’ll get him back, Aramis. I promise we will.”

“You cannot promise such a thing, Porthos,” Aramis argued. “No one can. For all we know, he is already dead.”

“He isn’t,” Athos said, mirroring Porthos’ resolve. 

“And you know this how?” Aramis challenged.

“I know this because the demon that took him is far too sadistic to simply kill him,” Athos said. “If that was its intent, it would never have taken him in the first place.”

“I pray that you are right,” Aramis said. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trying to shake off the miasma of fear that had engulfed him after learning of Stefan’s death, Aramis threw himself into his research once more. He thought he might finally be onto something in his quest to find out why the demon had not been able to take him that fateful day. He was almost positive it had something to do with the rosary that Athos had gifted him with. It had been in the man’s family for generations. More importantly, it had been handed down on his _mother’s_ side of the family. Based on all he had learned about the demon plaguing Athos, he had concluded that the rosary had acted as a talisman of sorts, protecting him from the demon’s attempt to possess him.

While Aramis felt his theory was a sound one, he was not so foolish as to believe in it absolutely. He knew there was a chance he was reading too much into it, that it was nothing more than wishful dreaming on his part. The problem was, there was no way to test it. Not safely at any rate. It would seem he would have to rely on his faith and pray he was not making a mistake.

Sliding back from his desk, Aramis sighed. He needed to do more research but he was unsure where to begin. He knew about blessing items such as crosses and rosaries but he had no idea how to go about taking such a blessed item and using it to make what amounted to protection talismans. He was not even sure if such a thing was possible. It would require the mixing of religious ideologies and he had to wonder if that, in and of itself, would not negate any potential protection he hoped the items might afford them. 

Regardless, he knew he would have to try. He simply could not stomach the thought of him being protected while Athos and Porthos were not. And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Athos would never allow him to give said protection to one of them in his place. No, the only way to offer them the same protection he was afforded was to somehow use the rosary to create other similar items. However, for that he was going to need help.

“What’s wrong?” Athos asked as he turned his chair around to face Aramis. Porthos did likewise and both of them watched Aramis expectantly, waiting. 

“Nothing per se,” Aramis said, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure how to express himself that would not make him sound insane. Or terrified. He did not want them thinking he was so afraid that he was grasping at straws for some way to protect himself. 

“Aramis?” Porthos asked. He could see the internal struggle going on and his own stomach twisted.

Aramis looked at Porthos sharply, taking in the sudden worry in his eyes. One look at Athos showed the same thing and he blew out a breath, annoyed with himself for causing them to worry. “It is nothing to worry about,” he said. “I am simply unsure how to explain myself.”

“Just say it,” Athos said. “If we don’t understand something, we will tell you.”

“Alright,” Aramis sighed. “You know how I’ve been trying to figure out why the demon was able to take d’Artagnan but not me. Well, I think I have.”

“Tell us already, brother,” Porthos urged when Aramis fell silent once more.

“It was the rosary Athos gave me,” Aramis said softly. “I was wearing it. And this time, whatever it was did not manage to strip me of it.”

“What do you mean?” Porthos frowned.

“At the school, when I was attacked the entity ripped the rosary from me almost immediately,” he explained. “I think, had it not managed to do so, that it would not have been able to attack me as it did.”

“So a rosary can drive this thing off?” Porthos asked skeptically. That sounded far too easy to him.

“No,” Aramis shook his head. “Not just any rosary. It was Athos’ rosary. Or, more precisely, Athos’ grandmother’s rosary. I think, because it was handed down on his mother’s side of the family that it provides some degree of protection from such things. I realize it sounds like I am somewhat desperate…”

“No, it doesn’t,” Athos said. “That rosary, it wasn’t just my grandmother’s. It had been handed down for generations, always going to the eldest daughter. Since my mother had no daughters, it went to me.”

“That makes sense then,” Porthos nodded. “If it was handed down over the generations from daughter to daughter then whoever began the tradition must have had at least some idea of what was going on. If not, they wouldn’t have been so specific about who it was handed down to.”

“So you agree that the rosary is likely blessed in some way?” Aramis asked, relieved that they didn’t think him insane. “That it can provide at least limited protection to its possessor?”

“Yeah,” Porthos said. 

“Then do you agree with me that I should be able to use it to create similar items?” Aramis asked carefully. He was not surprised when he saw Athos stiffen out of the corner of his eye but he kept his gaze riveted to Porthos.

Porthos licked his lips nervously. He took in the serious expression on Aramis’ face then glanced at Athos. He could see the sudden worry reflected there and he did not blame the man. What Aramis was suggesting could end up destroying the rosary along with any protection it might afford. He and Athos would both rather see Aramis keep the thing but he knew Aramis would not agree.

“I think there’s a chance, yeah,” Porthos said reluctantly. “I don’t have a clue how to go about something like that, though. And it’s risky, Aramis. You could end up destroying the rosary altogether.”

“I know,” Aramis said. “And I understand that you both would rather see me keep it but surely you understand why I cannot.”

“I do,” Porthos told him. “If anything happened to one of us that something like that might have prevented, you’d never be able to live with yourself.”

“Exactly.”

“Assuming you are correct,” Athos broke in, choosing his words with utmost care. “As Porthos has said, he has no idea how to go about such a thing. I know your religious studies were quite in-depth, but I do not believe they included such things as creating magical amulets.”

“No, they did not,” Aramis replied calmly. He met his lover’s eyes then and held them, refusing to back down. “But I am certain that there are others that do know about such things.”

“If… if Samara was still here, you could have gone to her,” Porthos said, sadness coloring his voice. “She knew all about that kind of stuff.”

“You said she had a partner,” Aramis commented, turning his attention to Porthos once again.

“Yeah. Girl named Constance. I always got the feeling that Constance was more of a friend and business partner than a practitioner.”

“Fair enough,” Aramis said, refusing to be deterred. “But even if she is not, as you say, a practitioner, she should be able to point me in the right direction.”

Athos opened his mouth, wanting to protest the unorthodox plan Aramis had come up with. After a moment, he closed it again. There was no real argument he could make. At least not any that Aramis would entertain. Yes, there was the very real risk of destroying to rosary and whatever protection it was providing. Athos knew, though, if it was him he would be attempting the very same thing. To stand idly by and watch those he loved risk themselves, knowing he had something in his possession that could protect them and not using it, was unimaginable. He would never be so cruel as to try to force Aramis to do such a thing. The man felt guilty enough over what happened to d’Artagnan. Athos had no desire to see that guilt added to.

Later that day, Porthos placed a call to Samara’s shop. Athos had suggested going there but Porthos didn’t want to just show up and start asking about Samara. He knew that she and her partner had been close. The two had been roommates in the beginning to save on money and then later because they both liked the arrangement. She might not take a bunch of strangers coming into the shop and asking about her murdered friend too well.

The phone only rang twice before a woman picked up. “Uh, hello,” Porthos began hesitantly. “You don’t know me. My name is Porthos du Vallon. Uh, Samara was a friend of mine.”

“Oh,” Constance said taken by surprise a bit. “Um, yes, I think I remember Samara mentioning you. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m not altogether sure,” Porthos said, struggling with how to explain what they needed.

“Mr. du Vallon?”

“Sorry. This is harder to explain than I thought. I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of nut or something.”

Constance laughed softly at that. “I run an Occult shop. I doubt anything you have to say is going to overly surprise me at this point.”

“Yeah, okay,” Porthos laughed, feeling some of the tension leave him. “Well, like I said, Samara was a friend of mine. I know she was really into Wicca. I was hoping you could point me in the direction of someone else, uh, like that.”

“Another Wiccan?” Constance asked. “Why?”

“Because we need some advice about something.”

“That was less than enlightening,” Constance replied, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Sorry,” Porthos apologized again. “We need someone who knows how to take a… a protection talisman and use it to make more of the same.”

“You’re in trouble?” Constance asked, her voice suddenly sharp.

“Not really. Not yet, anyway. But we need to do this sooner rather than later.”

“I take it you know where Samara lived?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you come over around eight this evening? I know of a couple of people I can steer you toward but I need to know a bit more first.”

“Yeah. Uh, would it be okay if I brought my friends with me? Aramis is the one actually making the thing so…”

“Aramis did you say?”

“Yeah.”

“Samara mentioned him,” Constance said frowning. “Not… not long before she was killed. She was working on something concerning him.”

“She called me,” Porthos said. He was gripping his cell phone hard enough to crack the thing as he remembered the message Samara had left him. “Said she had something to tell me.”

“Come over at eight. Bring your friends,” Constance told him. “And Mr. du Vallon, be careful.”

By the time they left for their meeting with Constance, all three men were visibly tense. Porthos was not overly concerned about the meeting, though he hoped it would not be too painful for Constance so soon after her friend’s death. Porthos’ tension had to do with leaving the safety of the loft. More specifically, with _Aramis_ leaving it. Other than for Father Stefan’s funeral, Aramis had not ventured out, much to Porthos’ great relief. The demon might have attacked them in their home but Porthos still felt it was infinitely more defensible than out in the open.

“You’re worried,” Athos observed quietly. Aramis was gathering the notes he had made so far on what he had come up with leaving the two men alone for the moment.

“Just being mindful,” Porthos said, trying to brush off his growing anxiety. “I don’t like us all being out in the open like this.”

“We will be on our guard,” Athos told him. “In truth, I don’t much care for it either but there is little to be done for it.”

“I shouldn’t have said about bringing you two along,” Porthos groused.

“Don’t be stupid,” Athos said. “We would have suggested it ourselves if you had not. You are not expendable, Porthos. We are in this together.”

“I know, brother,” Porthos sighed. “I just don’t like it is all.”

When Aramis joined them both men had settled somewhat. Aramis could tell they were both still on edge to a degree but he did not comment on it. He was on edge as well but for an entirely different reason. He was not worried for himself as he knew the others were. He was much more concerned with them and what might happen when the demon finally chose to reveal itself. 

The drive to Constance's apartment was a quiet one with each of them lost in his own thoughts. They kept a careful eye out looking for any sign of d'Artagnan. Porthos had taken Constance's warning to heart and checked the rear-view mirror regularly to make sure no one was following them. The last thing they wanted was to lead something back to the lady. 

"I do not think it would be so brazen as to attack us out in the open like this," Aramis commented. He could see how worried the other two were and while he thought it a possibility, he did not think it much of one. When he thought about it logically, he realized that the demon was not likely to reveal itself in such a manner. That would be too risky. If this thing had survived for centuries, as Aramis believed it had, then it had not done so by taking unnecessary chances. 

"It was brazen enough to attack us in our home," Athos pointed out, cringing when Aramis flinched at his words.

"Yes," Aramis said after a moment. "But that was in a controlled environment. It was not out in the open for all and sundry to witness. This thing has not survived for as long as it has by being careless."

"You're right," Porthos said, though he continued to monitor the rear-view mirror. "But I'm not taking any chances on leading something back to Constance. She's been through enough already. I don't want to see her suffer just for trying to help us."

Aramis stilled at Porthos' words as the memory of Samara came unbidden to him. He had to suppress a shiver at the thought of her death. What if it had not been a simple mugging gone wrong as the police concluded? What if it had been something else? Had she sealed her fate when she decided to help them? Aramis felt his stomach tighten painfully at the thought. He held his tongue, though. Porthos would not take such a theory well and Aramis did not want to burden him with such guilt for no reason. 

They took a moment to pull themselves together before getting out of the SUV and heading into the building. Even after Aramis' words, they kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, making sure nothing seemed out of the ordinary before venturing inside. 

Constance answered the door almost as soon as they knocked. She showed them inside then closed and locked the door behind her. "Sorry," she shrugged. "After what happened..."

"Of course," Athos said. "It is wise to be prudent."

"So, I recognize Mr. du Vallon from Samara's pictures," Constance said as she eyed the three of them. "Who are you two?"

"Forgive me," Athos said. "I am Athos de la Fere and this is Aramis d'Herblay."

"Please, call me Porthos. And these are the two friends I told you about," Porthos put in. 

"Constance Bonacieux," she said, shaking hands with all three men. "Constance is fine. Let's go into the kitchen. I'll make us all some coffee."

They settled around the small kitchen table while Constance bustled about putting on a pot of coffee for them. She had a feeling this might take a while. Samara had been doing some pretty heavy research just before she died and she thought it might have something to do with these men. If that was the case, she wanted to find out exactly what was going before handing over her late friend's notes.

"So," Constance said as she sat down across from Aramis, taking in the way the other two seemed to almost bracket him. "You knew Samara."

"Yes," Porthos said. "She and I... we used to be close a long time ago."

"I know," Constance nodded. "She still has... had… those pictures of the two of you from the beach. I just can't believe she's gone."

"I'm sorry," Porthos said. "The last thing you need is us coming here and reminding you..."

"Oh, don't be silly," Constance said, waiving him off then wiping at her eyes. "If she was helping you then there was a reason for that. She didn't help just anybody. Not with those kinds of things."

"She was good people," Porthos said.

"Yes, she was," Constance agreed. "Now tell me what I can do to help you gentlemen."

"Well, we called to see if you knew anyone who could help us with... well with an amulet, I guess," Porthos began.

"Oh yes," Constance nodded. "I know a couple of people that can help you with that. I can give them a call for you, if you'd like. They tend to be rather picky about who they do business with as well."

"We would be very grateful for any help you could give us," Aramis said.

"I'll give you their contact information and call them first thing in the morning. Now, I need to know what it was Samara was working on for you. I remember her mentioning the name Aramis in regards to some research she was doing but I don't know any more than that. Samara tended to be rather secretive about her research."

"Are you certain you wish to know?" Athos asked. "It is somewhat fantastical."

"I run an occult shop, Mr. de la Fere. I'm used to the fantastical."

"Athos, please," Athos said. He glanced at the others and at their nod quickly explained, sketching out the details while trying not to overwhelm her. 

"She believed the cat had been possessed?" Constance repeated. "And that the... the demon or whatever is now possessing your missing friend?"

"Yes," Aramis replied. 

Constance regarded the three men gathered around her table for long minutes. She could see the determination in their eyes but the one called Aramis had an air of desperation about him. He was afraid and she doubted if it was himself he was fearful over.

"I have all of Samara's notes," she said at last. "If I let you take them, you have to promise to let me know when you get your friend back."

"You would do that?" Aramis asked, surprised by her willingness to part with them.

"I think you need them a great deal more than I do. Just... be careful. And if you need anything else, well, I'm not going anywhere."

By the time they left Constance's apartment, they had Samara's notes as well as the names and addresses of two different people who might be able to help them with the amulets Aramis wanted to make. She promised to call them first thing in the morning so they would know to be expecting them. They had been friends of Samara's and Constance knew they would both do whatever they could to help.

"Nice lady," Porthos said as they headed back to the loft. 

"Quite," Athos replied. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

D'Artagnan smirked as he strolled through the living room. It would seem the Survivor had spared no expense in repairing the place. He trailed his hand over the shiny new laptop that adorned Aramis' desk. He could tell the Priest's desk from the others' just by the smell of it. It practically reeked of his faith. He considered destroying it again but knew it would be a futile gesture on his part. The Survivor would simply buy him another. What was the fun in that?

Instead, he walked through their home, taking in all the changes. He felt the bag in his hand start to move and he gave it a hard shake earning himself a yowl of protest. While the cat he brought with him did not look exactly like Sylvie, it was close enough. Besides, by the time he was finished with it, he doubted if there would be enough of it left to make a comparison. 

Still smirking he walked into the bedroom Athos and Aramis shared. He gave the bag in his hand another shake then slammed it against the door frame with a sickening thud. He felt the thing inside it twitch again then go still and tossed the bag onto the bed. He spent a few minutes just strolling around the room, opening drawers here and there, rifling through the contents haphazardly.

When the bag he had thrown down started to move again, he sighed and crossed back over to the bed. He sat down and grabbed the bag, pulling it closer. Opening it, he dumped the dazed and injured cat out onto the bed. He watched it for a moment before reaching into his jacked for the switchblade he carried there. 

Like lightning, his hand shot out and grabbed the cat by the neck. Holding the struggling animal, he leaned over so that it was more or less in the center of the bed before burying the knife it the animal's soft belly. He held onto it until he felt the life leave its body then he grabbed it by the back and shook it, taking care to scatter the insides of it over as large an area as possible.

That done, d'Artagnan stood up and admired his handiwork. He could just imagine how the Priest would react and licked his lips. Reaching down, he dipped his fingers in the cat's cooling blood. Walking over to the wall across from the bed, he began painting a message for the Priest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their spirits were noticeably lighter when they arrived back home. Not only did they have the names of people who might be able to help them, but they had the notes Samara had made. They had no idea exactly what she had been working on but they all knew it had something to do with the demon that had attacked them. The only thing that worried any of them was the fact that her research appeared to be linked to Aramis in some way. Athos in particular didn’t like the sound of that. He wanted that demon as far away from his lover as possible. It had come within a hairsbreadth of breaking Aramis with its assault and Athos feared what might happen if it got its claws into the man a second time.

“I am going to get a shower,” Aramis said as they walked into the living room. “Then we can go over Samara’s notes and see what it was she was working on.”

“Make it quick,” Porthos said as he dropped the files Constance had given them on the coffee table. He was anxious to see what they might contain but didn’t want to go through them without Aramis there. Lately, the man had taken to showering two or three times a day. Porthos knew he was just trying to work through what had happened and that feeling _clean_ was a big part of that for him.

“Should I make some more coffee?” Athos asked as Aramis headed toward their bedroom.

“Nah,” Porthos shook his head then paused and frowned. “Athos? You smell that?”

“Smell what?” Athos asked frowning himself at the look on Porthos’ face.

Porthos opened his mouth as a scream suddenly rent the air making his blood run cold. He and Athos both froze in shock at the sound of Aramis screaming then their paralysis broke and they were running toward the bedroom.

Even though Porthos was closer, Athos made it to the room first. He rushed inside, determined to protect his lover. What he saw brought him up short and stole the breath from his lungs. Aramis had pressed himself into the corner of the room and was curled into a ball. Athos could hear him muttering “no” over and over again as he all but keened. At first, he had no idea what had caused his lover to react so. Porthos’ indrawn breath behind him caused him to look up and finally take in the state of the room.

The coppery scent of blood was nearly overpowering in the small room. Athos had a moment to realize that this must have been what Porthos had smelled earlier. Then his mind was taking in the horrific scene and he felt his stomach clench painfully. 

_Something_ had been butchered and spread out all over their bed. He couldn’t even tell what it was at first, not until he saw the thing’s decapitated head on Aramis’ pillow. It was a cat. Someone had come in here, into their home, and left an eviscerated cat in their bed.

“Athos, the wall,” Porthos whispered drawing the man’s attention away from the carnage on the bed.

Athos looked at Porthos sharply then turned to see what he was looking at. What he saw made his earlier nausea disappear to be replaced by ice cold fear. There, scrawled on the bedroom wall in what appeared to be blood, was their intruder’s taunting message. 

_**NEXT TIME** _

Athos stared at those two threatening words for long seconds. He could hear Porthos practically panting in the doorway in impotent rage. It was only when Aramis let out another keening moan that Athos managed to tear his eyes away.

Turning his back to the defilement on their wall, he crouched down next to Aramis. He reached toward him slowly, careful to keep his hands where Aramis could see them. Not that his lover was seeing much of anything at the moment. No, Aramis was currently locked inside his own mind, trapped in whatever nightmare was playing out in his head.

“Aramis… Sweetheart…” Athos called softly, trying to get through to the man. “Sweetheart, it’s alright. It’s okay. You’re safe. We won’t… we won’t let it get to you again. I swear we won’t.”

“Athos is right,” Porthos said as he crouched down as well. He didn’t try to move closer, but stayed in the doorway. He wanted to be on an even level with Aramis without crowding him. “Nothing is getting to you without going through us to do it. You’re safe, brother.”

Slowly, Aramis began to calm. When he had walked into the room and taken in the scene, his mind had simply gone blank. Choking fear had gripped him, squeezing his heart like a vise and he had instinctively curled into a ball. At first, nothing had registered beyond the mind-numbing fear that the demon had returned for him. Gradually, however, Athos’ voice began to filter in. Along with it came Porthos’ as well and Aramis slowly realized that he was safe, that the demon was not there and he was not at the thing’s mercy once more.

It took almost half an hour to get Aramis calmed enough to get him up off the floor. Athos and Porthos quickly took him back into the living room with Porthos using his body to shield him from the sight on the wall. He had to suppress a shudder at what all those two short words might mean. If there had been any doubt before that Aramis was this thing’s target, there certainly wasn’t any now.

Once Aramis was sitting on the couch, wrapped tight in Athos’ arms, Porthos hurried into the kitchen. He came back a moment later with their half-full bottle of bourbon and three glasses. He poured a generous measure into all three then handed one to Athos. 

Athos took the glass with a nod. He had to force Aramis to loosen his hold so he could take a drink. Athos frowned when he all but gulped the liquor down like it was water but he didn’t say anything. If Aramis felt the need to get blind drunk for once, Athos would understand. 

They stayed like that until Aramis drained his glass and started in on a second. Porthos had tried to get up once, wanting to see what he could do about their room but Aramis had grown agitated almost at once so he had sat back down and waited. If Aramis needed them close, needed to be able to see that they were there and that he was safe then that was what he would do. 

Halfway through his second glass of bourbon, Aramis finally let go of Athos and sat back on the couch. He was still pressed in close to his side but he no longer felt the burning need to cling to the man. He knew it was likely the liquor dulling the edges of his panic but at the moment he didn’t care. 

“You better, ‘Mis?” Porthos asked carefully. He didn’t ask if he was alright. He knew the man was anything but. None of them were alright, not after seeing that. He felt the rage building inside of him again and fought to push it down. That wasn’t going to do any of them any good. When Aramis was no longer on the verge of going into shock, he could steal away to the gym for bit and take out some of his frustrations.

“I… I do not know,” Aramis said. He let out a chuckle that was precariously close to a sob and gripped the glass in his hands tighter. 

“It’s okay,” Athos said. “We are all… rattled. But we are here and we will not let that thing hurt you again.”

“I’m sorry,” Aramis said, looking down. “I know I overreacted. A dead cat a little blood should not… not…”

“Aramis,” Athos huffed, shaking his head. He gripped him by the chin and lifted his head, making him meet his eyes. “You have nothing to apologize about. What that thing did… it was obscene.”

“It meant to hurt you with it,” Porthos added. “It meant to scare you, scare all of us really. It wanted us to know that it was here, that it could come and go as it pleased and there wasn’t fuck-all we could do about it.”

“It is not wrong,” Aramis said defeatedly.

“Yes, it is,” Athos stated firmly. “It is wrong and we will prove it. We will find a way to keep it from simply walking in here whenever it so chooses. If a protective amulet can be made, then I am sure there is some way to… to ward this place against that creature’s presence.”

“Yeah,” Porthos agreed. “We’ll talk to the people Constance recommended. If they can’t help with this, I’m sure they’ll know of someone who can.”

“Listen to Porthos, love,” Athos told him. “We’ll find a way to beat this thing. We just have to stay strong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside, I really like cats.


	5. Chapter 5

"Porthos, I need to speak with you," Athos said as he joined the man at their kitchen table. Aramis was taking a shower leaving Athos free to speak without worry of being overheard. 

"What is it?" Porthos asked, frowning slightly. He automatically glanced toward the bathroom as he registered the sound of the shower running.

"Christmas is in three days," Athos said quietly. 

"Yeah. And?"

"And I cannot bear the thought of Aramis being so sad during what is normally such a joyful time for him," Athos explained. "I understand that he has endured a great deal of late, but I still would not see it ruin this time for him."

"Yeah," Porthos nodded. "I was wondering about that. I figured with as religious as he is that this would be a special time for him."

"It always has been, yes."

"So what do you want to do about it?" Porthos asked. "I take it from the fact that you're talking to me about this without him here that you want to surprise him with something."

"I do not think, with all that has happened of late, that Aramis would agree if I were to suggest we celebrate the season in any way," Athos said, choosing his words carefully. "Even so, I think it would be good for him. He needs to remember that there is still good in the world, that though he has lost so much, there are still things in his life worth being thankful for."

"Just tell me what you need me to do, brother," Porthos told him, agreeing with Athos. He could understand Aramis' reluctance to join in the season's festivities. He thought, however, that he would feel much better for doing so. Athos was right, he needed to start focusing on what he still had rather than what he had lost. 

"I need you to take him out for a few hours," Athos said. "Half a day would be ideal."

"You got it," Porthos said. "I need to do a little Christmas shopping myself. I can rope him into helping me with it. Maybe it'll help get him in the Christmas spirit a bit."

"Thank you, my friend."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Tell me again what we are doing at the mall?" Aramis asked as Porthos parked the SUV.

"We're Christmas shopping," Porthos said as if Aramis should know the answer.

"Christmas shopping," Aramis repeated, eyeing the other man.

"Yes, Aramis. Christmas shopping," Porthos insisted. "I know you haven't finished yours and neither have I."

"And you thought the _mall_ would be the best place to do this?" Aramis asked incredulously.

"Yes," Porthos grinned widely. He knew the mall was an exceedingly poor choice just days before Christmas as it would take them three times as long due to all the last minute shoppers. That was fine with him. Athos had asked for half a day to put together Christmas at the loft and Porthos wanted to make sure he had plenty of time.

"You're insane," Aramis muttered, refusing to give in to the almost infectious mood of the season.

"Come on," Porthos said, refusing to be deterred. "We've got shopping to finish. Have you gotten anything for Athos yet?"

Aramis actually blushed and looked away at that. He had not gotten anything for his lover yet this year. In truth, he had not gotten anything for anyone, recent events putting a damper on his normal enjoyment of this time of year. He always enjoyed Christmas so, from the lights and decorations to the Christmas Mass. Before leaving Seminary, he would have been deep into planning the program at whatever church he was assigned to at the time. This year it somehow felt wrong to feel joy, though. How dare he be happy when d'Artagnan was still out there somewhere? 

"Hey," Porthos called softly. He reached out slowly and turned Aramis' face back toward him. "You have nothing to feel guilty about. Do you really think Father Stefan would want you to be sad right now? Or d'Artagnan?"

"What right do I have to be happy when they..."

"What happened to them wasn't your fault, 'Mis. They wouldn't want you punishing yourself like this. Father Stefan cared about you a lot. I could tell that and I only met the man twice. And I know... I know d'Artagnan wouldn't want you to be sad right now. He loved... loves you. He would want you to be happy, especially now."

Aramis took in Porthos' words and the almost pleading look in the man's dark eyes. He could see a fair amount of worry there as well. While most of that was for d'Artagnan, he knew not all of it was. 

"You are right, my friend," Aramis nodded. "We have lost so much this year, but we have found even more. It is time to be thankful for that. There will be time enough to worry later."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they made it back to the loft, the sun was setting. Porthos and Aramis were both exhausted from an entire day spent pushing their way through the seemingly unending throng of shoppers at the mall. How this many people could still need to buy Christmas presents was a mystery to both men. Still, the day had been a productive one. Both of them had managed to get presents for everyone on their lists, including each other. Now they were just happy to be home.

Porthos was first through the door and actually froze when he saw what Athos had done to the place. He felt Aramis bump into him and he shook his head as a grin split his face. He spied Athos standing in the entryway leading from the kitchen to the living room and nodded once before walking the rest of the way inside.

Aramis had no idea why Porthos had stopped in the doorway. For one horrific second he thought something was wrong but Porthos had not tensed or given any other indication that anything was amiss. When the other man finally moved into the loft, he frowned and followed him in. 

Aramis gasped in awe at the sight that greeted him. Their loft had been transformed. A huge fir tree stood near the balcony doors. It was well over seven feet tall and was decorated from top to bottom. As Aramis stepped closer, he recognized some of the ornaments adorning it. They were his, or rather his and Athos'. Since the first year they had known each other, Aramis had always insisted on having a Christmas tree. They were always scrawny things that they could fit into their dorm rooms, but they had them all the same. Each year they went to each other's rooms and decorated the trees. It had become their tradition. 

Aramis had not even realized that Athos had brought the ornaments with them when they moved into the loft. He had thought them either still in storage somewhere or discarded as the bulk of his dormitory furniture had been. That Athos had not only kept them but moved them here made Aramis' heart clench.

"'Mis? Are you alright?" Athos asked as he came to stand beside his lover. Porthos had moved to bring the rest of their purchases inside and close the door as Aramis stood transfixed. 

"You... you did this?" Aramis asked even though he already knew the answer. Porthos had been with him all day, after all.

"Yes," Athos nodded. "Do you like it? I know you haven't felt up to celebrating this year but I could not bear the thought of you foregoing Christmas. I... I hope you do not mind."

"Mind?" Aramis repeated loudly. "Athos... I don't know what to say. I can't believe you did all of this."

"I had to," Athos said as he came up behind Aramis and wrapped his arms around his waist. 

"Thank you," Aramis said softly. "Thank you so much for this."

"It is not quite finished," Athos told him. "I left some of the ornaments off. I did not want you to miss decorating our tree."

Aramis turned his his lover's arms and kissed him. It was not a heated kiss but it was such a spontaneous thing on Aramis' part that Athos was left stunned in its wake. They stood their for long minutes, just holding each other, until Porthos came up and rested a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Come on," Porthos said. "You need to put those last ornaments on."

"Yes," Aramis agreed. He stepped back from Athos reluctantly and swiped at his eyes.

"There are some ornaments for Porthos to place on the tree as well," Athos said somewhat hesitantly. "I hope you do not mind."

"No," Aramis said at once. "No, not at all. It's... it's our tree. We should all have a hand in it."

"You didn't have to do that..." Porthos began.

"Yes, he did," Aramis cut in. "We are a family. This... this is for all of us."

"I just don't want to interfere with something that's between the two of you," Porthos said, a bit embarrassed by the men's gesture.

"You are not interfering," Aramis told him firmly. "Now let us put the finishing touches on this then Athos can show us what else he has been up to today."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"This is nice," Porthos said. They were sitting on the floor, looking up at their fully decorated Christmas tree. Porthos had felt himself blushing when he had placed the ornaments Athos had set aside for him on their tree. The little motorcycle, complete with his name, was his absolute favorite.

"I must agree," Aramis sighed. He had not expected to feel such a sense of peace, of rightness. This not only felt right, it felt like home. 

"The only thing missing is my mom's hot chocolate," Porthos sighed. 

"Good, was it?" Athos asked, smiling indulgently at his friend.

"Incredible," Porthos replied. "I have her recipe but I could never get it to come out right."

"I could try," Aramis offered. "If you would not mind, that is."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to," Aramis told him. "But if you would rather I not..."

"No, I don't mind at all," Porthos assured him. "It would be nice to have that again. It's been a long time."

"How long?" Athos asked.

"About ten years now," Porthos replied. "She got sick. Her health was never the best and it was just one thing after the other. I think she just got tired of fighting it."

"I am so sorry, my friend," Aramis said as he squeezed Porthos' shoulder.

"Aw, it's okay," Porthos said. He had not meant to dampen their mood. "It was a long time ago and I've made my peace with it."

"I am sure she was a wonderful woman," Athos said. When Porthos only looked at him, he shrugged. "She raised you for a son, after all."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late on Christmas Eve when the three finally settled on the sofa together. Their presents were all wrapped and under the tree making it look even more festive. Aramis felt a pang at the thought of d'Artagnan as well as his grandmother. No matter how much friction there was between them, she had still taken him in and raised him. This would be the first year that he did not spend at least a portion of the holiday with her. Refusing to allow her to spoil this moment, he pushed those thoughts away. This estrangement was her choice, not his, after all.

"Ohh," Porthos moaned suddenly, causing the others to look at him. He had not truly expected Aramis to be able to replicate his mother's hot chocolate. Even after watching her make it for years, he had not been able to. But he had. It was almost perfect and the memories it brought back were like a punch in the gut. 

"Porthos?" Athos asked cautiously. He understood all too well just how powerful memories could be.

"This... How..." Porthos stammered,unsure exactly what it was he wanted to ask.

"You like it?" Aramis asked anxiously. "It's close at least?"

"It's more than close," Porthos told him. "And I love it. It... it almost feels like she's here, you know?"

Aramis nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. He had followed the recipe with exacting care, wanting to get it as close to perfect as he could. Porthos deserved it. The man rarely asked for anything and when he did it was never for himself. Aramis wanted to be able to give him something just for him.

"So when do we get to open presents?" Porthos asked after the hot chocolate had been finished. 

"In the morning," Aramis grinned.

"Really?" Porthos groaned. 

"Really," Athos laughed. "It's part of our tradition."

"Oh, well in that case, in the morning it is," Porthos agreed. He was touched that they were including him in what was obviously something the pair normally shared. While Christmas was not a particularly sad time for him, it wasn't overly joyful either. This year, however, was turning out quite different.

When Athos and Aramis retired for the night, they left Porthos in the living room still sitting in front of their tree. They had been reluctant to leave him at first but he had finally shooed them off to their room, telling them he was fine and that he just wanted to sit and enjoy their tree for a bit longer.

"He will be fine," Athos said as he led Aramis into their room and closed the door. 

"I know," Aramis said. "But I know he is missing d'Artagnan and trying not to show it."

"We all are," Athos agreed. 

"Yes," Aramis nodded. "But enough about that for tonight. It is Christmas Eve. Our first Christmas Eve together. I would like it, very much, if we could perhaps begin a new tradition."

Athos looked at his lover. He could see the determination in his eyes as well as the anxiety. Swallowing thickly, he reached out and took Aramis' hand in his. "What sort of tradition did you have in mind?"

Aramis smiled softly at him and used his grip on his hand to pull Athos to him. "I want to make love with you," Aramis said as he held him. He was doing his best to keep a lid on his fear. He had come a long way in getting past what had been done to him but he still had a great deal of healing to do. He hoped this night could be another step in that direction.

"Are you sure?" Athos asked, concerned. He and Aramis had been slowly rebuilding their physical relationship. Athos could hold him and kiss him now without Aramis flinching or stiffening up. They had not, however, come close to engaging in anything of this sort and he worried that Aramis was pushing himself into something he simply was not ready for.

"Not entirely," Aramis admitted. "But I would like to try. If you don't..."

"I do," Athos told him at once, not wanting him to think otherwise. For all of his reassurances, Aramis still struggled with the scar on his face. He could not see how Athos could find the sight of it anything other than hideous. Athos knew it would take time for him to make his peace with it but he still took every opportunity afforded him to let Aramis know that he found him just as beautiful, just as desirable, as ever.

Aramis pulled back a bit but did not release his lover. He hesitated for a moment then slowly brought his mouth down to the other man's. He felt Athos go completely still in his arms and tightened his embrace. His lover was always so careful with him, never pushing or asking for more than he thought he was ready to give. The care Athos took with him went a long way toward making Aramis feel safe enough to even try.

They kissed for long, slow minutes, doing nothing more than enjoying holding each other. They were both becoming aroused, Athos more so than Aramis, but that was normal these days. Athos was just grateful that Aramis could still find pleasure in such acts at all. If he had to move more slowly, take more time to stoke his lover's arousal, he did not mind. Any time spent with this man was precious to him and Athos vowed to ensure Aramis never doubted that.

Somehow they made it to the bed without tripping over themselves or each other. There, they took their time once more, slowly undressing each other until they were down to just their boxers. Athos hesitated then, afraid of moving too fast. For all that Aramis said he wanted to make love, that did not mean he was actually ready to.

"It is alright," Aramis told him, smiling softly. "I want this, want you."

"Alright," Athos relented. He wanted this as bad if not more than Aramis did. He had grown accustomed to the feel of Aramis' skin against his own as they slept. Being without that felt akin to withdrawals but Athos was determined to wait for as long as his lover needed. He would not push. Not in this. This was wholly on Aramis' terms.

With slightly shaking hands, Athos removed the last of Aramis' clothing, baring him. The sight of his lover's naked body, taut and lean, flushed with desire as his cock stirred between his legs made his breath stutter in his chest. He felt a jolt of want slam into him, his own cock hardening painfully fast in his shorts and he barely managed to keep from squeezing himself in an attempt to quell it.

Aramis had been nervous as Athos removed the last of his clothing. However, the look of unabashed _want_ on his lover's face made his heart pound in his chest in anything but fear. That his lover still desired him so, was still moved so greatly from nothing more than the sight of his naked body, fanned the flames of his own desire. Why Athos desired him of all people so very much, Aramis had no idea, but he was not going to question it. Not now. Now, he had much more important things to tend to.

Aramis saw Athos reach for his own underwear and reached out to cover his hands with his own. "Let me," Aramis said softly. He felt his face heat but pushed past his momentary discomfort. It was not the prospect of Athos' nudity that bothered him as much as his own brazenness. Still, Athos could not carry this relationship on his own. It had to be a joint effort. He had to do his part and that included being the one to reach out at times.

Athos stayed as still as he could while Aramis finished stripping him. It was the most intimate they had been with each other of late and he all but held his breath in a combination of hope and fear. He knew Aramis was trying. He had watched his lover struggle with this, getting a little stronger, a little more sure every day. The last thing he wanted was for Aramis to push himself too hard and suffer a setback.

Now that both of them were fully naked, they took a moment to simply take each other in. Athos was almost fully hard already and Aramis found his own body responding in kind. It was surprising, the strength of the desire that hit him. He had not felt want this strongly since before the attack. 

"Aramis?" Athos whispered when long minutes passed with his lover saying nothing.

Aramis' eyes shot to Athos' own. He could feel his earlier blush intensifying but he did not look away. Licking his lips, he started to speak but nothing came out. He looked away for a moment, gathering his courage, then looked back at Athos again.

"I want you," Aramis said, his voice low and rough. "I want you so badly."

"You have me," Athos said at once. He closed the short distance between them carefully then pulled Aramis into his arms. He felt the man's arms wrap around him at once, holding on tight. "I'm here, Sweetheart. I'm right here. You have me. In any way you want me."

"I want to make love with you," Aramis said again. "I want..."

"What?"

"Can I..." Aramis began then trailed off once more. He remembered their first time together, what Athos had offered him. He found himself wanting that now but he was unsure how to ask. Or if his lover would still even be willing to do such a thing with him.

"Anything," Athos told him seriously. "There's nothing you cannot ask of me. Nothing I would not willingly give you. I love you, Aramis. Whatever it is you want, the answer is yes."

Aramis smiled against the side of Athos' neck. He loved this man so much. "I want to make love to you," he said at last. "I want to... to take you."

Athos sucked in a surprised breath at Aramis' words. He had not expected Aramis to want that, at least not yet. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, but only if you want to."

"There is no way in which I do not want you," Athos told him, meaning every word of it. 

Aramis pulled back and looked at his lover carefully. The sincerity he saw in Athos' eyes told him everything he needed to know. Emboldened, he leaned forward and kissed Athos again, putting a great deal more heat into this kiss than the last one. As Athos began to respond, Aramis pressed him back until he lay stretched out on the bed with Aramis over him.

As Aramis continued to kiss him, he let his body come to rest atop the other man's. Both men moaned at the feel of skin on skin. When Aramis moved slightly so that their hardening cocks rubbed together, Athos gasped and bucked up hard.

Aramis found himself meeting Athos more than halfway, grinding down on instinct as delicious sensations rolled all the way through him. He let his hands come up and slide into Athos' hair, cradling his skull and holding his head as he kissed him hotly. Aramis felt like his whole body was on fire as they they rubbed against each other sensuously. 

"Aramis," Athos moaned when they finally broke apart. "Gonna come if you keep this up."

"Me, too," Aramis panted. He had to force himself to still, to stop grinding down against the other man, spurred on the by the hard cock he felt digging into his belly. He was not surprised by the strength of his own reaction. That Athos was equally effected by such a simple thing, though, awed him.

They lay panting for a few moments, each man trying to rein his body back in. Aramis had never been so bold before and it enflamed him. He had been stunned by his lover's request but he was more than willing. To feel Aramis inside of him, taking him, was a long-held fantasy. One he had not thought to have fulfilled for quite some time. 

"I'm afraid you'll have to tell me what to do," Aramis admitted. The single time they had made love was his only experience and he did not trust his memory of the mechanics as it were. 

"I can do that," Athos told him. "Or I can get myself ready and you can watch."

"I would... I would like to do that, to be the one to prepare you," Aramis said, blushing. 

"I would like that as well," Athos replied. 

With a great deal of reluctance, Aramis levered himself off Athos. He immediately felt bereft and leaned down to kiss him, needing that connection. Athos eagerly returned it, needing it just as much as Aramis in that moment. He had not felt so connected to his lover in months and he was afraid if he let go of him that it would dissipate as if waking from a dream.

Aramis sensed his lover's desperation and gently stroked his face. "It's alright," he said, pulling back. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

"Sorry," Athos said, chagrined at his show of neediness. He did not mean to make Aramis feel obligated to continue if things became too much.

"Do not apologize for needing me," Aramis told him.

"Just don't want you to push yourself too far because you think I need it," Athos admitted. With Aramis, honesty was always the best course of action.

"I won't," Aramis promised. "I wouldn't do that to you. But I want to try. I want... I want... you."

"I want you, too. So much."

"Where..."

"My nightstand," Athos replied.

Aramis grinned down at him then reached across to open the nightstand drawer. He quickly found the lubricant and moved back. He positioned himself between Athos' spread legs, the sight of him so bare and open to him nearly taking his breath away. Suddenly, he felt a wave of nervousness. He had never done this before and the last thing he wanted was to hurt his lover in some way.

"You will do fine," Athos told him, as if reading his mind. "I will tell you what to do and if I feel more than mild discomfort, I will tell you."

"I love you," Aramis said. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. The look of trust on Athos' face eased his fears and he smiled softly as he stroked Athos' spread thigh before taking up the lube.

Athos felt his own heart start to beat faster as he watched Aramis pour the slick liquid on his fingers and rub them together to warm it. His cock gave a jerk when his lover reached down with his other hand and caressed his balls. He had never been so turned on by so little since he was a teenager. He only hoped he didn't end up coming all over himself before Aramis was even inside him.

Aramis saw the effect his actions were having on Athos. His own cock throbbed with the knowledge that he was giving him such pleasure. When he felt the lube was warmed enough, he carefully spread Athos' cheeks and trailed his slick fingers up and down his cleft, stroking lightly over is hole. The resultant moan he drew from the other man was nearly intoxicating, making him want to hear it over and over again.

"Do I start with one finger?" Aramis asked, unsure just how accustomed to this activity Athos might be. He, himself, had been a virgin to this but he doubted if Athos was.

"Yes," Athos replied. "I haven't done this in a while."

"How long?" Aramis asked as he continued to simply trail his fingers up and down, rubbing at his hole but never trying to breech him.

"Since... since I met you," Athos admitted. 

"Athos?"

"If I couldn't have you, I didn't want anyone else inside me."

"Oh love," Aramis said, closing his eyes against the intensity of emotion that Athos' confession elicited. 

"Aramis?"

At the sound of Athos' voice, Aramis opened his eyes. "I am going to press inside you now," Aramis told him. He did not wait for Athos to reply but slowly began pressing his finger inside of him. He was surprised at the amount of resistance he felt then it suddenly gave way and his finger was pushing inside of Athos for the first time.

"Ohhh," Athos moaned at the feel of Aramis' finger pushing inside of him for the first time. It had been years since he had last done this and the feeling was at once strange yet familiar. To know that it was Aramis taking him this way, that it was Aramis he was taking into his body, made the feeling so much more intense. He had never thought to have this, had never thought to have another taking his body in such a way again. To have this now was almost like a dream.

"Are you okay?" Aramis asked anxiously. He had stilled with his finger halfway inside the man, not wanting to move too quickly. 

"Yes," Athos gasped, spreading his legs wider still for his lover. "More. Please, more."

At Athos' breathless plea, Aramis slowly pushed his finger in the rest of the way. When it was all the way inside of him, he stilled again taking a moment to simply feel. Athos was tight around his finger, giving testament to his earlier admission. Aramis had expected that but he was surprised at how hot the man felt. 

Aramis worked him open slowly, only going further when Athos urged him to. The feel of Athos' body opening to him was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was trust on a whole new level and it made Aramis' heart beat faster. 

As Aramis slowly worked him open, he remembered their previous encounter when it had been him spread out on the bed staring up at his lover. Athos had touching something inside of him that had felt amazing. Athos had explained that it was his prostate that had brought such pleasure. Now, he wanted to see if he could do the same for Athos.

Crooking his fingers, he searched for the little bundle of nerves. It took him a few tries but he finally found it. As soon as his fingers made contact with it, Athos cried out and arched off the bed. Aramis gasped at the intensity of his reaction, unsure if it was good or bad.

"Athos?" Aramis called worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"That... that was... Aramis..." Athos stammered, unable to form a coherent reply.

"Do you want me to do it again?" Aramis asked, still unsure. 

"Yes. Please, yes," Athos begged. It had been so long since he had felt that. He had forgotten how intense it could be. 

Taking Athos at his word, Aramis crooked his fingers again. He was careful, only stroking over that spot lightly. Still, it was enough to have Athos crying out loudly once more. If they kept this up, Porthos was likely to come see what all the yelling was about. Aramis was not at all sure which of them would be more embarrassed if he did.

"I'm... I'm stretched enough," Athos panted, his body on fire from his lover's careful ministrations. He needed Aramis to take him already before he ended up losing control completely.

"Are you sure?" Aramis asked.

"I'm sure if you keep this up I'll end up coming all over myself," Athos told him. "I'm sure, Aramis. You won't hurt me."

Trusting Athos, Aramis pulled his fingers free. With slightly shaking hands he coated his hard cock with the lube. He bit back a groan when Athos spread his legs wider still, offering himself up to his lover. 

Now that the time was upon him, Aramis was unsure what the best way to do this was. He looked up and met Athos' eyes, the concern in his own met with Athos' calm confidence. Taking a breath, he steadied himself.

"How should I...?"

"Take one of my thighs and push my leg back toward my chest," Athos told him. "That should give you enough room."

Aramis did as instructed, moaning softly at the sight of Athos' slick hole. Holding his leg back, Aramis pressed the head of his cock against Athos' entrance. Gripping his cock by the base, he began to push forward. Athos' body tried to resist him at first and Aramis was on the brink of pulling back when it gave way and the head of his cock slipped inside.

"Aramis," Athos moaned loudly. He could feel his body trying to fight the intrusion but he forced himself to relax. Aramis was inside of him. It was almost too much to take yet at the same time, Athos ached for more.

"You feel so tight," Aramis gasped as he fought to remain still. He could feel Athos' body resisting him, but he held himself in place. Soon, he felt his body relax and he carefully pressed forward a bit more. 

"All the way," Athos panted. "I need to feel you."

Aramis nodded and hesitated a moment then began to push forward again. He did not stop this time until he was fully seated inside the other man. Athos' body felt like a vise on his cock as it squeezed him. A very hot vise. 

"I'm inside you," Aramis said in awe. He had never felt anything even close to this. It made him want to bury himself inside of his lover and never come out again.

"Oh God," Athos moaned. The feel of Aramis inside him, filling him, made his whole body sing with desire. 

"Athos?"

"You're inside me," Athos said, his own voice as awed as Aramis' had been. "I had never thought..."

Aramis groaned at Athos' words. He did not know how much longer he could remain still. His body was demanding he move and the wild desire he saw in Athos' eyes only spurred him on. "Can I...?"

"Yes," Athos said at once. "Make love to me, Aramis. I want to feel you filling me with your come."

Leaning down, Aramis rested his forehead against Athos' as he struggled for control. A moment later, he pulled back slightly and thrust forward. The sound it pulled from Athos spurred him on and began to carefully fuck into him, pulling back a bit more each time.

Not wanting to put too much of a strain on Athos, Aramis pushed himself back up. He held on to Athos' thigh, holding him open, then began to move once more. Athos' eyes were wide with desire. The man's cock was hard and leaking against his belly but Aramis didn't have the coordination at the moment to do anything about it. 

Sooner than he would have liked, Aramis felt his release building. He stared down at Athos' wide green eyes and felt his balls draw up. "I'm going to come," he panted as he continued to fuck into him.

"Please," Athos whined. "Come inside me. Please, Aramis."

That was more than Aramis' fragile control could take. With a shout, he pushed in hard and stilled. A second later, his cock began to pulse as he filled Athos' body. Athos could actually feel Aramis' cock swell, then the man was spurting inside of him. It was the first time Athos had ever had a lover come inside of him. That realization was enough to push him over the edge as well and he moaned weakly as thick come spurted across his chest and belly.

Once it was over, the two men lay panting. Aramis stayed where he was at first, not wanting to break their connection. He knew, though, that Athos would become sore if he stayed like this for too long so he slowly pulled out.

Both men groaned when Aramis' cock slid free. Aramis collapsed onto the bed next to Athos while he tried to get himself under control once more. Athos was doing much the same, his body feeling empty now that Aramis was no longer filling him. It made him ache and want the man back inside of him but he knew that was not possible. Instead, he settled for groping along the bed until he found Aramis' hand and gripped it.

When Athos gripped his hand, Aramis gripped back hard. He stayed as he was for a bit longer then forced himself to rise. At Athos' almost panicked look, he leaned down and kissed him. "I need to clean us up," Aramis told him. 

Athos nodded and reluctantly released his hand. His eyes tracked Aramis as he quietly slipped from the room. He returned quickly, a washcloth and towel in hand. Sitting down beside Athos, he cleaned the come from his chest first then moved down between his legs once more. Spreading them, he gently cleaned his lover's hole, mindful of how red and swollen it looked.

"I am alright," Athos said when he saw Aramis frown.

Aramis' head shot up at Athos' words and he blushed slightly. "Are you in any pain?" He asked.

"No," Athos told him honestly. "Now finish cleaning up and come back to bed. I want to feel you lying next to me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

D'Artagnan perched on the balcony outside the loft. It considered going inside but refrained. It had already showed them that it could come and go as it pleased in this body. There was no need to repeat the lesson. 

As it sat on the balcony railing like a gargoyle come to life, it cast out its senses. The big one had taken to his room, but he was of no consequence. Still seeking, it took a moment but it found what it was looking for. The Survivor and the Priest were together as it had expected. What it had not expected, however, was what they were doing. It looked like the scared little virgin had finally managed to find some balls. 

Focusing all of its senses on the pair, it was almost as if it was in the room with them. It could see every move they made, hear every heated moan. It could smell the scent of sex in the air and licked its lips hungrily. 

Its eyes shown as it imagined the Priest beneath it. When it got its hands on him again, it would do much more than simply fondle him. And it would force something other than the boy's tongue into his mouth. Perhaps it would even make the Survivor watch. It could imagine the revulsion on the Priest's face as he was made its whore. Oh how delicious the Survivor's pain would be as he watched his lover being desecrated right in front of him.

As it thought of all the things he would do to dear, sweet Aramis, it could feel its body starting to respond. The boy's cock began to grow hard as it focused all of its senses on the pair. Unlike the Priest, the boy was no stranger to these acts. And though he had felt no emotional pleasure from such things, its body had sometimes managed to achieve release. It was those memories it drew on now as it forced the boy to spy on the lovers.

It reached down and fondled its body, relishing its host's disgust. Suddenly, it paused as the flesh beneath its hand began to soften. The boy was fighting it again. It frowned, shaking its head angrily. The boy was not able to put up much of a fight, but he was able to keep his body from... reacting. It would be somewhat difficult to do what it wanted with the Priest if the boy forced him to remain impotent. It was not overly concerned, though. A mere boy would not be able to keep it from its prize no matter how hard he fought.

As the lovers' encounter drew to a close, d'Artagnan turned and leapt down from the balcony railing. This late at night, no one was out to witness its feat so it felt safe enough to do so. The boy wanted to fight? Fine. It would show him the futility of such gestures. As well as the consequences. 

_"I will never let you hurt him," d'Artagnan vowed. "Not like that."_

_"Yes, you will," the demon thought back at him, chuckling in its mind. "In fact, you will do much more than simply allow it. You will help orchestrate it."_

_"I won't," d'Artagnan countered._

_"We shall see. We shall see."_

As it walked on, it marveled that the boy had not figured out where they were headed to yet. It supposed it was understandable. The boy had been rather affected by what they had watched, after all. But it was high time he learned just who was in charge here. It did not appreciate his attempts to control his body. No, the boy's body belonged to it, to do with as it pleased. 

It felt a wild surge of fear when they reached the street of the boy's familial home. It grinned widely as the boy began to rage inside of it. It felt him try to stop it, to make it turn around, but his will was nowhere near great enough to do so. It might be able to affect it to some small degree, denying it his body's arousal, but he could not force it to comply. He was powerless.

It could feel the boy go still as it slipped through the darkness and up to his parent's home. It stopped beside a window, the brightness from inside ensuring that it remained unseen. It cast its senses out again as it had done earlier and, once more, it was as if it was standing in the room with them.

D'Artagnan's parents were sitting side by side on the sofa. His sisters and brother were gathered near. D'Artagnan could practically smell the hot chocolate in the mugs they held. They were all smiling, happy to be together, and the pain that lanced through him at that was nearly crippling.

_"It does not appear they have missed you much," the demon mused, chucking to itself._

D'Artagnan stubbornly ignored it, refusing to listen to its lies. He knew his parents and siblings felt his absence keenly, that they were getting on with their lives without him was only right. He did not want them sitting around crying over him. Still, it hurt to see them like this, so very close but never farther away.

As the demon forced him to watch, d'Artagnan felt a lone tear roll slowly down his cheek. He missed his family so much. Even as happy as they looked right now, he could still see the shadow of his loss in his mother's eyes. That he had put such sorrow in those warm, kind eyes tore at him.

_"Your sisters are quite pretty," the demon taunted, trying a new tactic. "Perhaps I should turn my attentions to them rather than the Priest."_

_"No!" D'Artagnan snarled back at it._

_"Temper, temper," it chuckled. "You may be able to stop this body from responding but, well...". At that, the demon began showing him scene after sickening scene, each more obscene than the last as the demon wearing his body brutalized his family. By the time it stopped, d'Artagnan was sobbing, begging it not to hurt them._

_"Please," he begged brokenly. "I'll do anything. Just don't hurt them. Don't... don't make me hurt them."_

_"Are you sure, boy? I can already imagine the sound of their screams, the taste of their blood."_

_"Anything," d'Artagnan promised in defeat._

_"Very well," it agreed. "But the price for this will be a high one. And if you try to renege, you will not enjoy the consequences. Nor will they."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Athos and Aramis emerged from their room on Christmas morning, they were not surprised to find Porthos already up and at the kitchen table. He had a pot of coffee made along with mugs out for both of them. 

"Morning," Porthos grinned at the pair.

His smile was wide and infectious and both men couldn't help but smile back. He was as anxious as a child, though he was fighting hard not to show it. That alone told Aramis how long it must have been since the man had enjoyed a truly happy Christmas.

"Good morning," Aramis smiled as he sat down across from him at the table. "Let us get a cup of coffee then we can see what's under the tree."

"No rush," Porthos said, though he was nearly bouncing in his seat.

"Come on," Athos grinned. There was no reason why they couldn't drink their coffee and open presents at the same time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure you don't want us to go with you?" Athos asked again as he and Porthos pulled on their jackets. They had opted to go out for the evening. A bar near the loft was doing a New Years Eve celebration and they had decided it was as good a place as any to ring in the new year. 

"I'm sure," Aramis told him again. "I just want to stop at the church and light a candle for Stefan. You two go ahead and get started without me. I won't be long, I promise."

"Alright," Athos relented. "But make sure to take the Jeep. I don't want you walking tonight."

"Yeah," Porthos agreed. "Folks are gonna start celebrating early so watch yourself."

"Yes, Mother," Aramis grinned. He ushered the pair out the door then went to get ready himself. Porthos had wanted to go a bit early to get a good table so Aramis had a few minutes before he needed to leave. He wanted to wait until he was fairly sure the church would be empty. He didn't really want to speak to anyone there. He just wanted to light a candle for his friend.

As Aramis slipped on his jacket, his eyes fell on the bookshelf. His heart twisted painfully at the sight of the three presents sitting on the top shelf. After opening their gifts Christmas morning, there had been three presents still under the tree. 

D'Artagnan's presents. 

They had all sat, somewhat stunned that each of them had gotten him a gift as if he were still there with them. It was Porthos who finally took the presents from under the tree and placed them on the top of the bookshelf, saying that d'Artagnan could open them once he was home again.

Aramis shook his head, refusing to let his thoughts go down that path. Not tonight. Tonight was for being with Athos and Porthos. They had been through just as much as he had and they deserved a night of good cheer and laughter. 

Aramis had timed it just right and the church was practically deserted. Slipping into a pew in the back, he knelt and said a short prayer for Stefan. He rose then and lit a candle in remembrance before leaving to head for the bar downtown.

It was a good deal busier when Aramis arrived at the bar and he had to hunt for a place to park. He finally found one a few blocks away and quickly pulled into it. Zipping his jacket closed against the chill night air, he locked the Jeep and headed toward the bar.

He was almost there when he heard the sound of a voice calling out faintly. He paused, listening and when he heard it again his heart nearly stopped. It was d'Artagnan's voice, he was sure of it. D'Artagnan was calling for help.

Forgetting everything else, Aramis turned toward the sound of his lost brother's voice. He hesitated a moment but when the cry came again followed by the faint sound of sobbing, he moved. 

The faint cries led to an alley and Aramis paused again. It was even darker here, the streetlight dim and fading. Still, if d'Artagnan was down there, he was most likely hurt. Even if it wasn't d'Artagnan crying out, someone was obviously in trouble and needed help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It waited, just inside the alleyway. It knew he was coming. The desperation in the boy’s voice when he had called out ensured it. It could feel the boy now, cringing inside of them. It could feel how badly he wanted to fight, wanted to somehow stop what was going to happen but he was powerless. He had made himself so when he had bartered for his family’s lives. 

It had told him there would be a heavy price to pay, yet he had readily agreed. It thought the stupid boy should have known the price would concern the Priest in some way. After all, tormenting him was almost as much fun as tormenting the Survivor. In some ways, it was even better for any pain inflicted on one the other felt just as keenly.

It understood it was being risky, trying to lure the Priest out like this. Still, it was worth it just to listen to the boy’s broken cries as he pleaded for help, all the while knowing that he was leading his dear friend into a trap. 

It could feel Aramis drawing near, just as it knew he would. Aramis would never allow anyone to suffer, especially one he cared for as much as this one. Perhaps later it would think on that and find more ways to use it. For now, it was satisfied that the Priest was on his way to them. 

At the sound of approaching feet, it moved further back into the dark shadows of the alley. The Priest was no fool. He would be on guard for a trap, though it doubted he would be truly prepared for one. Even if he was, housed in the flesh of one he called brother, it knew there was little he could do. Not on his own anyway. Perhaps, with all of them working together, if they could subdue it long enough, they might be able to force it to give up its host. But the Priest was alone and he did not have the knowledge required for such things. 

It heard the footsteps slow as the Priest drew closer. It could feel its body rousing already at the thought of all it planned to do. It would need to be mindful, though. It did not want to break him after all. No, that would come later when the Survivor was there to watch. For now, it would be satisfied with a taste of things to come. 

“D’Artagnan?” Aramis called out as he crept into the darkened alley. All he could see ahead of him was inky blackness and he hesitated again. A shiver ran down his spine and he knew he should not have come alone, that _something_ lay in wait for him here, but the possibility of finding d'Artagnan, of getting him back, had been more than he could resist.

Carefully, he inched further into the darkness. When his foot kicked an empty bottle, he cringed, the sound ringing out loudly in the eerie stillness. He had a moment to realize that it was suddenly too quiet when he sensed something no more than a foot in front of him. 

“Hello, Aramis,” the demon said, grinning wickedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay on this. And the cliffhanger ending.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This part contains a non-con scene! The scene is not overly graphic but it isn't glossed over, either.

_“Hello, Aramis,” the demon said, grinning wickedly._

Aramis felt his blood turn to ice as he took in the malicious glee on the face of his friend. He knew at once that this was the demon he was facing and _not_ d'Artagnan as he had hoped. Aramis started to take a step back, back toward the street and light and at least the semblance of safety, when the thing's words froze him in place.

"I wouldn't," it said calmly. "Not if you ever want the boy back alive."

"What do you want?" Aramis asked as evenly as he could. He knew he was at an extreme disadvantage but he also knew the demon meant what it said. It would kill d'Artagnan just for spite if he tried to leave.

"Peace on Earth," it smirked, grinning even wider at the anger it saw reflected back at it. "But since we both know how unlikely that is, I'll settle for you."

"And if I say no?" Aramis asked, stalling as he tried to think of a way out of this without d'Artagnan somehow paying the price.

"You won't," the demon replied. "You love him too much to risk it. You humans are all alike. You think yourselves so strong because you can love when, in fact, it is that very emotion that makes you vulnerable. 

"You love the boy so you will do whatever I say to keep me from hurting him more. The boy loves his family which is what drove him to make a bargain that he is now deeply regretting. In fact, it was love that began this whole cycle centuries ago."

Aramis tried to concentrate on what the demon was telling him, on any clues he could glean. He tried not to think about what those words meant for him in the here and now. For the thing was correct, he would do whatever necessary to keep d'Artagnan from further harm. He only hoped he could live with the consequences.

"I see you understand now," it smirked. When it saw Aramis clench his fists in futile anger, it threw back its head and laughed. "Tell you what, little Priest, take your best shot. I won't even make the boy pay for it. But you're only going to get one."

Aramis didn't hesitate, knowing _somehow_ that the thing would keep its word. He moved in hard and fast, ducking low then using his long legs to spin and kick out. He was actually surprised when he connected, his foot taking the demon squarely in the stomach. The force of the blow vibrated all the way up Aramis' leg and he nearly went to his knees. It had been like kicking a stone wall and he had not so much as moved the thing.

"Good one," the demon said looking down at him. A split second later, it grabbed Aramis by the throat. It jerked him to his feet, squeezing brutally as it did so. Dragging him in so that their faces were almost touching, it licked a long stripe over the scar on Aramis' face, enjoying the look of revulsion it elicited. 

"It would be so easy to snap your neck like this," it continued before hurling Aramis across the alley to slam into a brick wall and land in a crumpled heap at the bottom. "But that would be too quick for you and the Survivor both."

It strolled over to where Aramis lay stunned and gasping. The impact with the wall had knocked the breath from him. He had heard the sickening pop as his shoulder was forcibly dislocated a second before the pain hit. Forcing his mind to focus, he realized he was now even deeper in the shadowy recesses of the alley, all but ensuring no one would witness what was about to happen.

"Poor little Aramis," it taunted as it reached down and fisted its hand in his hair. It drug him upward, forcing him onto his knees. Reaching down, it laid its free hand on his injured shoulder and squeezed, a sadistic thrill running through it as he tormented the other man. Seeing the Priest like this, on his knees and panting in pain, was intoxicating and the demon drank deeply of it. It could feel its host's body starting to stir and felt the boy cringe within them. He knew better than to interfere this time, though. 

It kept its vise-like grip on Aramis’ shoulder, immobilizing him, and released his hair only to grab him by the throat instead. Slowly, it began to squeeze, cutting off the man’s air little by little. It could see the panic and pain in his eyes and simply grinned. It was high time they all learned just how powerless they were in comparison to it, starting with the Priest.

Still squeezing Aramis' shoulder tightly, it let go of his throat, refusing to allow him the respite of unconsciousness. With one hand now free, it swiped at the tears running down Aramis’ face, licking them from its fingers before reaching down and massaging its growing hardness. It felt the boy sob brokenly in its mind as the realization of what was about to happen dawned on the Priest. The look of sick helplessness on his face was enough to have it stiffening fully, its flesh fighting against the confines of its clothes.

Knowing Aramis was in no condition to even try to escape, it released him and began working on its pants. It was difficult with its hard member straining the fabric but it finally managed to open them enough to push them down and free itself.

Aramis kept his eyes glued to the ground as he tried to blink away the tears from his eyes. He did not want to watch what was about to happen. His insides twisted at both the thought of being made to pleasure this monster as well as forcing d'Artagnan to endure such a thing. Aramis had no doubt that the demon was making the boy endure this right along with him, enjoying their helplessness. 

Taking itself in hand, the demon once again fisted its other hand in Aramis' hair. It jerked his head up, forcing him to look up at it. It relished the resignation it saw in his dark, wet eyes. It had taken the Priest weeks to recover from its previous attack. This one was liable to leave him broken and useless for months. That thought alone made its cock pulse in want and it licked its lips in anticipation.

"Suck me," it commanded, yanking Aramis forward by his hair. 

Aramis opened his mouth, intending to plead for the thing not to do this but he never got the chance. As soon as his lips parted the demon thrust forward, forcing d'Artagnan's hard cock into his mouth until he gagged. It held itself there for a moment, enjoying the way Aramis choked and gagged around it then it was moving, thrusting forcefully as it fucked Aramis' mouth.

Aramis couldn't stop the tears from running down his face once more as the demon roughly took him. He pushed weakly at it with his good arm but it was futile. His emotions were like a whirling maelstrom inside of him, everything from fear to pain to disgust to shame, each competing for dominance and completely swamping him. His shoulder throbbed in agony and he wretched every time the thing thrust in too far. 

"So good," the demon groaned. "Such a good little whore. You belong on your knees."

Aramis could do nothing to deny the horrible words. Even if he could, he wouldn't have. He would not risk angering the thing. He knew from what it had told him already that d'Artagnan still lived. He would do whatever necessary to ensure that did not change.

"You'd do anything to protect him, wouldn't you?" it continued as if reading his mind. "Just look at you. On your knees in the filth sucking cock. In less than a year you went from a Priest to a back alley whore. And for what? Your precious Athos? He's the reason for all of this. If he'd just minded his own business, I would never have come back. Not for him anyway. But he just had to have his answers, didn't he?"

It thrust in hard then, shoving itself all the way inside Aramis' mouth. He gagged and was very nearly sick but the thing refused to pull back. He tried to breathe, but the flesh filling his mouth prevented it. He tried to pull back, fighting against the thing's hold on him, but he was no match for the demon especially with one arm useless. It held him in place easily, grinding his face into its groin and Aramis could do nothing but take it.

Finally, the thing pulled back and allowed him to get a breath. A moment later, it was fucking his mouth even harder than before, intent on spilling down Aramis' throat. It didn't take long after that and with a low groan the thing shoved in all the way and began to come.

Aramis felt the flesh in his mouth start to pulse and knew the thing had found its release. That it was forcing him to swallow it, to carry some part of it inside of him, made his stomach roil dangerously. When the thing finally began to soften, the demon pulled back allowing its cock to slip free. 

"Not bad, whore," it chuckled as it took a step back. That decision proved to be a wise one as Aramis doubled over and began to heave. Once it was sure Aramis had finished being sick it stepped back beside him. A well-placed kick to his already injured side had him crying out in pain as he lay sprawled on his back. 

Shaking its head, it reached down and dug Aramis' cell phone out of his pocket. It quickly dialed Athos' number then dropped the phone back onto Aramis' chest. "Don't keep your precious Athos waiting. He's in the pub right next door after all."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Stop worrying," Porthos said as Athos looked at his watch for the third time. "He probably just ran into somebody at the church."

"That's what I'm worried about," Athos admitted. 

"He said his Grandmother doesn't even go to that church," Porthos reminded him, knowing exactly what Athos was worried about. "Look, if you're that worried, call him."

"No," Athos shook his head. "I don't want him to think I'm checking up on him or anything."

"We'll give him ten more minutes," Porthos decided. "If he's not here by then I'll call him myself."

Athos smiled his thanks, grateful that Porthos understood his worry. He knew Aramis could take care of himself, that out of all of them he was probably the most physically equipped to do so. That did nothing to ease Athos’ worry, though.

“Thank you,” Athos said a few minutes later after polishing off his beer and signaling for another.

“For what?” Porthos asked.

“For this. We needed this, to get out of the loft, to realize there was still a world outside our front door.”

“Yeah,” Porthos agreed. “I know it’s been hard on Aramis. It’s been one blow after another for him. I gotta tell you, Athos, I’m starting to wonder how much more he can take.” 

“So am I,” Athos said softly. It felt good to finally admit that to someone, to say it aloud. He knew Aramis was healing. He had come so far since the attack but, while he was not broken, he was still… cracked. Athos was afraid if something else happened it might end up shattering him completely.

“Hey, look at me,” Porthos said, waiting until he had Athos’ complete attention. “We’re not going to let that happen. We’re going to get the kid back and Aramis is going to keep getting better. We’ve all been through Hell, but we still made it.”

“You, my friend, are very wise. Here’s to new years and fresh starts,” Athos toasted.

Ten minutes later, Porthos had just pulled his phone out to call Aramis when Athos' rang. Athos breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Aramis' name flash up on the display. He swiped his thumb across the screen then strained to hear in the noisy bar.

"Aramis?" Athos called when all he heard was silence. "Aramis? Are you there?"

"A-A-Athos..." Aramis stammered weakly into the phone. He had managed to get the phone to his ear in time to hear Athos calling his name. The sense of relief he felt at hearing his voice was immense. On the heels of that, though, came nearly crushing shame and he found himself unable to say anything.

"Aramis? What is it? Where are you? I can barely hear you." Athos held the phone pressed tight to his ear. He covered his other ear with his hand, hoping to be able to hear better. Something was wrong. Aramis didn't sound right.

"A-Athos," Aramis tried again. He knew he needed to tell him where he was. He was hurt and going into shock. He needed help.

"Aramis, I can't hear you," Athos said again. "Let me walk outside real quick."

"Everything okay?" Porthos asked when Athos stood.

"Yeah," Athos said, waving Porthos back down when he started to stand as well. "I just can't hear a damn thing in here. I'll be right back." 

Aramis suddenly felt like crying then realized that he already was. He had no idea what to say to Athos. The demon had said he was in the alley beside the bar but Aramis couldn't remember now if that was the case or not. If not, there was no telling how long it might take for Athos to find him. 

"Alright, I'm outside," Athos said into the phone again. "Now what's going on? Where are you?"

"I... I'm..."

"Aramis?" Athos called, growing alarmed. "Aramis, where are you?"

"Alley," Aramis managed. "Beside the bar. That's... that's what it said."

Athos felt his heart give a painful lurch at Aramis' words. He hurried toward the alley next to the bar, steeling himself for what he might find. It was clear that Aramis was hurt. Athos needed to find him and quickly.

Athos paused at the mouth of the alley and peered into the darkness. At first, he didn't see anything, then the faint glow of Aramis' cell phone caught his eye. He ran toward him, unmindful of anything other than getting to his lover. 

When Athos reached him, he saw that Aramis was sprawled out on his back. "What happened?" he gasped as he dropped down next to him uncaring of the filth littering the damp ground. 

Aramis didn't answer right away, unsure what to say. He had no idea how to explain all of this to Athos and was not sure he had the strength to at the moment anyway. He felt his stomach roil again at the thought of what the demon had done to him and he turned his head away, unable to look at his lover.

"Hey, it's okay," Athos said gently. He could see that something had happened and that Aramis was in no shape to tell him what at the moment. For now, he needed to find out how badly he was hurt and then get him out of there. 

Aramis bit down on a sob at Athos' words. It wasn't okay. He doubted if it would ever be okay again. He felt fresh tears sting his eyes then roll down his temples. He had never felt more weak in all his life and that only added to his shame.

"Oh Sweetheart," Athos whispered. He reached down and gently turned Aramis' head back around to face him. "Can you tell me how bad you're hurt? Do I need to call an ambulance?"

Aramis shook his head at that. He could not stand the thought of a bunch of strangers putting their hands on him right now. Besides, he wasn't hurt that badly. "Shoulder," he managed. 

"What's wrong with your shoulder?" 

"Dislocated," Aramis replied. 

"Fuck," Athos swore. "I'm calling an ambulance."

"No," Aramis said at once. "Home. Just... just take me home."

"Sweetheart, I can't reset your shoulder," Athos tried to reason.

"I can... can tell Porthos how," Aramis said. "Please, Athos."

"Alright," Athos agreed. He knew they needed to get Aramis out of there ad back home. They could better assess his injuries there and decide if he needed to go to the ER or not. Taking Aramis' phone from his hand, Athos tucked it in his pocket. He quickly dialed Porthos' number and was relieved when the man answered on the first ring.

"Athos? What's going on?" Porthos asked, already up and moving toward the door. 

"We're in the alley beside the bar," Athos said. "Hurry."

Whatever Porthos had been expecting when he raced around the corner and into the alley, it was not to see Athos on his knees beside a prone Aramis. His first thought was that Aramis had been mugged. It didn't happen often in this neighborhood, but holidays always brought out the vultures. As soon as he got a good look at Aramis, he knew it wasn't anything so simple. 

"What happened?" Porthos asked as he crouched down next to Athos. 

"I don't know," Athos replied. "He hasn't been able to tell me yet, but he said his shoulder's dislocated."

"Fuck!" Porthos swore. "We need to get him to the hospital..."

"No," Aramis interrupted, shaking his head. The motion jarred his injured shoulder and he moaned in pain. 

"Aramis..." Porthos began, hoping to reason with the man. 

"Please," Aramis whispered. "I don't want... I can't take... strangers... touching..."

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Porthos said quickly. 

"I can tell you what to do," Aramis told him. "It's not complicated."

"Alright, brother," Porthos agreed, though the thought of having to set the man's shoulder made his stomach clench. Still, his brother needed him and he would not let him down. "If we help you up, do you think you can walk? If not, I can carry you."

"No, I... I can walk," Aramis told him. 

They got him to his feet as carefully as they could. Even being as careful as they were, Aramis still moaned in pain but there was nothing to be done about it now. Once they got him home and his shoulder seen to then they could give him something for the pain. 

They took the SUV, leaving the Jeep where it was. Porthos would come back for it tomorrow. As Porthos drove, his eyes kept darting to the rear view mirror to check on the pair in the backseat. This was entirely too reminiscent of their drive home from the funhouse, only this time it was Athos rather than d'Artagnan wrapped around an injured Aramis.

His hands tightened on the wheel as he felt a surge of anger. Aramis didn't deserve this. He was the kindest, most forgiving person he had ever met. He willingly put himself at risk for complete strangers for no other reason than because they needed help. Whoever had hurt him was going to pay for it. Porthos would make sure of that. 

As Porthos drove, Athos held Aramis cradled against him. He tried not to put any pressure on his injured shoulder, but every bump in the road caused Aramis to flinch in pain. Once they had gotten him out of the alley, Athos had been able to get a good look at him. He had seen the deep red marks around his lover's throat. That left him at even more of a loss as to what had happened. Other than the marks on his throat and his shoulder, Aramis appeared unharmed. If he had been attacked, he had not fought back.

Holding Aramis to him, Athos thought back to what the man had said, little that it was. Suddenly, he remembered. Aramis had not said "he" or "they" when referring to his attacker, he had said "it". Athos felt his heart start to pound at the implication. He opened his mouth to ask Aramis then quickly snapped it shut. He knew he had to ask, they needed to know what had happened to him, especially if the demon was involved but Athos was afraid. That thing's first attack had nearly broken the man. Athos did not know if he could survive another intact.

Laying in Athos' arms, Aramis felt himself start to calm. He was safe. Athos and Porthos were here and he was safe. At the thought of Athos, Aramis felt a fresh wave of shame. He knew that Athos would not hold his actions against him but he still burned with humiliation. Worse than that, however, was the sense of betrayal he felt. He doubted if Athos would see it that way, but he had betrayed him nonetheless. He had given himself to that thing. He had gone to his knees and...

"Aramis... Sweetheart, it's alright," Athos whispered when he felt Aramis start to shake in his arms. "We're almost home. We can give you something for pain as soon as we get there."

"I am not... This is not because of the pain," Aramis managed with a grimace. "Besides, I deserve it."

"No," Athos said softly but firmly. "You don't deserve this. You never deserve pain. What... what did that thing do to you?"

Aramis opened his mouth to tell him but no words came out. How was he supposed to tell Athos this? How was he supposed to tell his lover that he had allowed that thing to use him, that he had willingly pleasured it? Worse still, how was he supposed to explain that it was his own recklessness that put him within the thing's reach to begin with? 

"It's okay," Athos said when it became clear that Aramis simply could not tell him. Not yet at least. "You don't have to say anything. You don't have to explain. Just... just tell us where you're hurt. That's all we need to know."

"I'm so sorry," Aramis whispered brokenly, finally finding his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back his tears. He had brought this on himself. He had no right to cry to Athos about it now. His lover deserved better from him. If he was even still willing to call him that after what he had done.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Athos told him. He saw Aramis start to protest and shook his head. "No. I don't care what happened or why. It doesn't matter. All that matters to me is that you're safe. Nothing... nothing that happened will make a difference to me."

"You don't know..."

"I don't have to," Athos told him. He meant it, too. He cared that Aramis had been hurt. Of course he did. But it didn't _matter_. It didn't matter that the thing had gotten away again. They would find it. It couldn't hide from them forever. That the thing had bested him and escaped, it did not make a difference in how he felt for him, in his regard for him, in his love for him. He understood that Aramis knew this, too. Inside, where it mattered, he knew. But he was hurt and scared and quite obviously blaming himself for letting the chance to get d'Artagnan back slip away. 

Listening to the pair in the backseat gave Porthos a better understanding of what had happened. He shuddered at the thought of the demon cornering the younger man once again. While a dislocated shoulder was bad, it could have been so much worse. He knew Aramis had to be tearing himself up inside over the kid giving them the slip again. It wasn’t his fault, though. None of them were prepared to go one on one against that thing, not and come out in one piece.

Porthos breathed a sigh of relief when he finally pulled up in front of their building. Now they could get Aramis inside and get his shoulder taken care of. After that, maybe he’d feel steady enough to tell them what had happened and how he ended up down a dark alley with that thing in the first place.

Getting Aramis out of the SUV and into the building was trickier than expected. His shoulder had all but seized up and even the slightest of movements elicited a painful response. In the end, Porthos had said to hell with it and simply picked him up. Athos had quickly moved in front and opened the door and they soon had Aramis safely in their home once more.

“Where do you want to do this?” Porthos asked as he stood in the middle of the living room still holding Aramis cradled in his arms. From the way Porthos held him, one would think Aramis weighed no more than a child. Porthos did not often flex his muscles but that did not mean he did not have them in abundance.

“Sofa,” Aramis said softly. He would need to be lying down for Porthos to reset his shoulder. They were going to need some room as well. While normally it would have been a rather quick procedure, the joint had grown stiff and swollen. This was going to end up being as difficult as it was painful. Still, he would rather do it here and take the pain than go to the hospital and have to endure the touches of strangers right now.

Porthos set him down as gently as he could. As he helped him lay down, his injured shoulder on the outside, he started to feel a bit sick. He had never done anything even close to resetting a dislocated bone. He knew Aramis would be able to talk him through it, but he could not stand the thought of causing one of his brothers pain.

"It will be alright," Aramis told him softly. He could see the trepidation in Porthos' dark eyes. He understood it and he hated asking such a thing of him, but he simply could not endure the chaos of a hospital right now. 

"Just tell me what to do, brother," Porthos said. "I won't let you down."

"I know you will not," Aramis replied. He looked around Porthos and saw Athos standing worriedly near the end of the sofa. "Athos, can you get a couple of towels and fill a large bowl with ice?"

"Of course," Athos said, heading to the kitchen to gather the things Aramis had asked for.

As soon as Athos was gone, Aramis looked to Porthos again. He quickly told him what to do, explaining that he would have to both work quickly as well as exert a fair amount of force. What he was trying to do was stretch the muscles and ligaments enough to allow the ball to slip back into place. 

Porthos realized then that Aramis wanted him to do this while Athos was out of the room. He could understand, really he could. This was going to hurt, there was no way around that, and Aramis did not want Athos to have to watch it. 

"Alright, brother. Ready?" Porthos asked.

Aramis nodded, trying to brace himself for what was to come. He felt Porthos take hold of his arm then he was pulling down and twisting and Aramis' world exploded in pain. He cried out loudly as his vision greyed around the edges, the pain threatening to swamp him completely. He thought he heard a crash and the sound of Athos shouting, but he could not tell past the white-hot agony in his shoulder. 

"What the hell?" Athos roared as he ran back into the living room. He had dropped the bowl of ice he had been filling when he heard Aramis scream. Now his lover lay panting on the sofa, his injured arm held protectively across his chest.

"It's done," Porthos said. Athos spun toward Porthos angrily but the man only shook his head. "He didn't want you to see it. Now where's that ice?"

"All over the kitchen floor," Athos snapped. He pushed past Porthos to sit down on the coffee table as close to Aramis as he could get.

"I'll get it," Porthos said.

"Not his fault," Aramis panted weakly. "I told him to."

"Oh Sweetheart," Athos sighed. He wasn't angry at Aramis or even Porthos. Neither of them had asked for this and he knew they were only trying to protect him. No, his anger was reserved for the demon that had done this to his lover in the first place. 

Porthos returned a short time later, bowl of ice in hand. He and Athos filled a towel with it and laid it over the man's shoulder. Both men flinched when he moaned in pain but there was not much they could do about it yet. They needed to find out what had happened in that alley and they needed Aramis coherent for that. Once they knew he wasn't hurt anywhere else, Porthos could give him something for the pain.

"Think you can tell us what happened now, 'Mis?" Porthos asked gently. "How'd you even end up that far down the alley?"

Aramis tried to think of something to say, some way to tell them what had happened, but the words locked up in his throat. How could he explain that he had heard d'Artagnan calling and had thrown all caution, all common sense, to the wind and run blindly into that alley. He remembered what the thing had forced him to do and wanted to be sick all over again. 

"It's alright," Athos tried to soothe. "Just breathe, Sweetheart. Whatever happened, it's over and your safe now."

"I'm so sorry," Aramis said, repeating his words from the ride home. 

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Athos assured him. "We will get him back. D'Artagnan is not lost to us yet."

Aramis turned his head away at that. Athos thought he was upset because they had missed a chance to free d'Artagnan. While he was upset about that, it was not what he had been referring to. He felt a fresh wave of fear wash over him at the thought of having to tell Athos what had happened... what he had allowed to happen. 

"Whatever you're panicking about, you need to stop," Porthos told him. "Athos is right. You got nothing to be sorry about."

"You don't know," Aramis said, unable to look at either man. 

"Then tell us," Porthos urged gently. 

Aramis took a deep, shuddering breath then another. He had to tell them, he knew he did. After all, the demon had spoken to him for some time. There could be any number of clues to be had from its words. Taking one last, fortifying breath, Aramis began.

"I was on my way to the bar. I had to park a few blocks away and was walking. I... I heard someone call out." He hesitated then, embarrassed to admit how foolish he had been. "It... it sounded like d'Artagnan. He was calling for help. I..."

"You went in search of him," Athos said softly, starting to understand. 

"Yes," Aramis nodded. "It never occurred to me... I should have known..."

"Aramis?" Porthos called when he trailed off.

"I should have known it was a trap," Aramis admitted. "Instead..."

"Hey, any one of us could have done the same thing," Porthos said. "Probably would have. I know if I'd heard the kid calling for help I wouldn't have stopped to look either."

"So you ran into the alley," Athos prompted, trying to get Aramis talking again. 

"Yes. I was not very far in when I stopped and realized what I was doing. Before I could retreat, it stepped out of the shadows. I made to run but it... it threatened to harm d'Artagnan if I did. We knew it was strong but I hit it full strength and did not even move it."

"Is that what happened to your shoulder?" Porthos asked.

"No," Aramis shook his head. "It grabbed me and tossed me down the alley and into the side of a building. My impact with the building damaged my shoulder."

"What happened then?" Athos asked, suddenly afraid of what Aramis might tell them.

Aramis felt his eyes sting with tears and had to close them. He was about to go on when a series of explosions sounded in the distance. All three men jumped at the sound, looking about the room wildly for any sign of where it had come from. A few seconds later, it happened again and they realized it was the New Years fireworks show beginning. 

Porthos let out a shaky breath as Athos sagged next to him. Aramis had gone tense all over at the first sound and now held himself stiffly, his arm cradled to his chest. Porthos took one look at him and headed for the med kit in the kitchen. He returned less than a minute later with a glass of water and two pills.

"Take these," Porthos said as he held them out to Aramis. It was clear the suddenly movement had reawakened the pain in his shoulder. It was also clear that, other than a few bumps and bruises, his shoulder was his only real injury. Whatever he had to tell them could wait for morning. 

Aramis looked at Porthos for a moment then took the proffered pills. He tried to hold the glass himself, but his hand was shaking too badly. Athos quickly steadied it and helped him take a drink so he could get the pills down. Aramis had a moment to wonder if Athos would still be so helpful if he knew the truth of what happened but he ruthlessly pushed that thought away. 

"Let those take the edge off a bit and then we'll see about getting you settled into bed," Porthos said. 

Aramis nodded, grateful for the reprieve, temporary though he knew it was. Considering everything he had been through that night, it was not long before he felt the pills start to take effect. He sighed in relief when the horrible pain in his shoulder began to die down to dull ache, the narcotic in his system blunting his nerves to it. 

When Porthos saw Aramis' eyes start to lose their pinched look, he knew it was safe to move him without causing him too much pain. "'Mis? You ready for me to carry you into your room?"

"I can walk," Aramis said a bit muzzily, his words thick in his mouth. 

"Let us help you at least," Athos said, not wanting to take a chance on Aramis falling and doing even more damage to his shoulder.

"Okay. Help me sit up first, though. I need to make a sling for my arm before we do anything."

Athos and Porthos helped get him upright then Porthos went to check the med kit for a sling. He was pretty sure the one they sent him home from the hospital with was still in there. He was rewarded a few minutes later and quickly returned to the living room. It took a bit of very careful maneuvering but they got Aramis' shirt off and the sling on him with a minimum of pain. They waited until he relaxed again then helped him to his feet. With one of them on either side of him, they slowly walked Aramis into the bedroom.

Athos had just helped him strip down to his boxers when another round of fireworks unexpectedly went off causing Aramis to jump and cry out in pain at the sudden movement. Athos and Porthos were back at his sides in an instant. Aramis grabbed onto Athos with his good hand, holding the man close to him. He felt Porthos start to move back and could not bite back a keening moan.

"What is it, brother?" Porthos asked, leaning back in close to him. "What do you need?"

"Don't go," Aramis whispered, ashamed of being so weak but unable to countenance the thought of either of these men being out of arm's reach right now. 

Porthos glanced at Athos and saw the concern in his eyes. Aramis had not been like this even after the funhouse incident. That he was now was worrisome to both of them. "I'll stay right here," Porthos told him. "Let me just grab my sleeping bag again."

"You can... There is enough room... " Aramis began, trailing off helplessly.

"Are you sure, brother? I don't want to hurt your shoulder," Porthos said gently. 

"Sorry," Aramis said, hanging his head.

"Hey," Porthos said as he reached out and tipped Aramis' head back up to look at him. "If you want me here, I'm here. Whatever you need, brother."

"I don't want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable," Aramis told him.

"The only thing that would make me uncomfortable is being out there where I couldn't check on you whenever I needed to. As long as you and Athos are fine with it, then I'm good."

It took a bit of arranging to get Aramis settled comfortably with Athos curled against his uninjured side and Porthos lying beside the other. Porthos was careful to keep a sliver of space between them, both in deference to Aramis' injury as well as those things he knew the man was still working to recover from. 

With both of them near, surrounding him protectively, Aramis felt himself relax. The adrenaline from the attack had long since worn off and he was exhausted in mind and body both. Before he knew it, he felt himself nodding off, the blessed sanctuary of sleep pulling him under.

"What do you think happened to him?" Porthos asked Athos once Aramis had drifted off to sleep between them.

"I don't know," Athos admitted. "Other than his shoulder, he does not appear overly injured. I have to wonder why that is. It is clear the demon had him at its mercy, yet it let him go relatively unharmed. Why?"

Porthos stared at Athos, taking in the man's words. He was right. The demon could have done anything to Aramis. A dislocated shoulder was nothing. Not compared to all the thing had done to him so far. What more had happened to their brother that they were not yet aware of?

Early the next morning, Porthos slipped from the bed and headed for the kitchen. He had slept off and on, too aware of Aramis' injured shoulder and worried for the man in general to sleep for long. Now that morning was here, he knew the pair would be waking soon and wanted to get a pot of coffee on. Maybe now that Aramis had gotten some rest he would be able to tell them what had gone on in that alley. 

The smell of coffee managed to slowly rouse Aramis. He grinned for a second before memories of last night came crashing back causing him to tense. The movement aggravated his shoulder and he hissed as it throbbed painfully in complaint. As he lay there, breathing deeply and trying to get his body to relax, he began to despair. He felt steadier now than he did the night before but he still had no idea how he was going to tell Athos what had happened. Even knowing he was being somewhat foolish, he could not help but wonder what his lover would think of him once he found out. Would Athos still even want him after this?

"How did you sleep?" Athos asked quietly. He had felt Aramis jerk and hiss in pain but had stayed still, giving his lover time to calm on his own if he could. He felt him taking deep, even breaths but they didn't seem to relax him at all. Athos knew he was still in pain but he did not think that was the cause of his unease. Whatever had happened to him in that alley still weighed heavily on him and it likely would until he was able to tell them.

"Better than I had expected to, though that might have been due to whatever it was that Porthos gave me," Aramis said truthfully. 

"Are you in much pain?"

"Some, but nothing a little ice and ibuprofen should not take care of."

Athos leaned up on one arm and looked down at his lover. He wanted so badly to kiss Aramis but something told him he needed to tread carefully. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. 

Aramis and Athos worked together to get Aramis dressed and his arm back in the sling then they headed to the kitchen to join Porthos. He already had mugs waiting for them and they smiled their thanks as they sat down across from him. 

"Your phone went off a little while ago," Porthos told Athos. 

"Thanks," Athos replied. He picked up his phone and swiped his thumb across the screen. He didn't recognize the number but whoever it was had left a message. He was just taking a sip of his coffee when the message began to play. 

Athos froze, his coffee cup held in midair, as the message played on. As he listened, the blood drained from his face and his hands began to shake. He squeezed his eyes shut tight in denial and he felt sick. No wonder Aramis had not been able to tell them what happened.

"Athos?" Porthos called in alarm. He had seen the man freeze then go pale and glanced worriedly at Aramis. Reaching out, he took the shaking mug from Athos' hand before he could drop it and set it down. When Athos didn't even acknowledge him, he really began to worry. Unsure what else to do, he pulled Athos hand away from his face and took the phone from him. 

Athos looked at Porthos for a moment then turned to stare at Aramis. He opened his mouth to speak then snapped it closed. He had no idea what to say to his lover. He didn't even know if what he had just heard was the truth or not. If it was...

Porthos watched the silent tableau for a moment longer. He had no idea what was going on but he intended to find out. He pressed play on the message and hit the speaker button. Whatever was on this message, he had a feeling they all needed to hear it.

_"Hello, Athos," d'Artagnan's voice came over the phone. It sounded wrong, though. It was slick and oily in a way their boy's normally wasn't, as if he had a secret and was just waiting for the opportune moment to reveal it._

_"I must say, I'm rather impressed," d'Artagnan's voice continued mockingly. "I wouldn't have thought such a devout little church mouse could be turned into a cock-sucking whore so quickly. Did he tell you all about it? How he went to his knees for me right there in that alley? I have not felt such pleasures in a very long time. I must say, he was worth the wait. Do you think he can still taste my spunk on his tongue? Can he still feel it filling his belly? Well, no worries if he can't. I'll be coming for him again soon enough."_

When the message cut off Porthos all but threw the phone down on the table. He looked at Athos and saw how effected the man was. He was even more pale and visibly shaking and Porthos had no clue what to do to help him. They had known something had gone on in that alley but neither of them had imagined it was something so horrific. No wonder Aramis had not been able to tell them about it.

Turning to Aramis, Porthos expected to see him in no better shape than Athos. He was surprised when, instead of fear or disgust, he saw nothing but rage. Aramis looked angry enough to kill, he was flushed and shaking, his hands balled into tight fists. 

With a snarl, Aramis shot up from his seat, kicking his chair out behind him. His action was so unexpected that both Porthos and Athos recoiled. Aramis grabbed up Athos' phone and hurled it across the room. It struck the wall hard enough to dent the plaster and clattered to the ground in a broken heap. He wanted to hit something, wanted to hit it again and again until the rage inside of him abated. Instead, he stood where he was, panting harshly, his fists clenching and unclenching over and over as he fought for control.

After long minutes, the red haze in Aramis' mind began to dissipate. Taking a last, deep breath, he turned to Athos. He could see the wariness in his lover's eyes and did not blame him. "Athos," he began, reaching toward him. 

Athos stared at Aramis, almost as shocked by his lover's outburst as he had been by the message the demon had left him. He had never seen Aramis lose control like that before. It was the complete opposite of how he would have expected him to react after last night. He stood there, continuing to stare at Aramis, the thing's words running over and over through his head. When Aramis reached toward him again, he could not stop himself from jerking back.

"Athos?" Aramis called again, his heart freezing in his chest when Athos drew back from him. It was the thing he was afraid of most, that what the demon had done to him would somehow drive Athos from him. 

"Okay, let's all just take a minute," Porthos said, hoping to diffuse the situation. He picked up Aramis' chair and set it back down behind him the pushed down on his uninjured shoulder until he sat back down. He sat down as well and just waited, giving all of them a chance to get themselves under control again.

"Was it telling the truth?" Athos asked, breaking the silence. "Did you really..."

"Athos..." Porthos began, not liking the way Athos was making this sound.

"Yes," Aramis admitted quietly. "After it threw me down the alley and injured my shoulder, it came for me. It forced me to... to use my mouth on it."

"Did you fight it?" Athos asked, irrational anger surging inside of him. Damn Aramis! If he hadn't been so reckless, none of this would have happened. 

Aramis swallowed thickly at Athos' question. "No," he replied, feeling sick inside. "I was afraid of what it might do to d'Artagnan if I did."

"Athos, hey come on, man," Porthos pleaded. "You know there's nothing he could have done. If he fought the thing who knows what kind of shape he would have ended up in."

Athos took in Porthos' words. He knew the man was right. The threat to d'Artagnan aside, if Aramis had fought he would have been hurt a great deal worse than he was. Still, it was like acid eating him away on the inside to know that his lover had gone to his knees for that thing and pleasured it.

"Excuse me," Athos said, standing abruptly. "I need to get some air." With that, he strode toward the balcony door, stepping outside and quickly closing it behind him. He had briefly considered getting in his Jeep and just driving but knew he was in no condition to be behind the wheel of a car. 

Aramis could only watch helplessly as Athos walked away from him. He had told himself before that he was being foolish, thinking Athos would not want him now. It looked like he had not been so foolish after all. He could not blame Athos for being disgusted with him. He was right, he had all but given himself to the thing, going to his knees and doing as it demanded without so much as a word of resistance. 

"Give him a little time," Porthos said, unsure what to do. "He's just shocked. We knew something had happened but we never imagined..."

"You never imagined me whoring myself to it for d'Artagnan's safety?" Aramis finished bitterly. 

"Stop that," Porthos admonished. "You did what you had to do. I wasn't there. Neither was Athos. We got no right passing judgement on how you handled the situation. I know you didn't want that thing to touch you. Athos does, too. He's just... just shocked, I think."

Aramis started to argue then stopped. What was the point, anyway? Athos had made his disgust with him quite clear and Aramis did not blame him. Suddenly, he felt dirty all over, as if the demon's touch had somehow contaminated him. It felt like something filthy was crawling all over him. He needed to get clean.

Pushing back from the table, Aramis rose once more. "I need a shower," he said in answer to Porthos' questioning look. 

"You need any help?" Porthos asked, referring to Aramis' all but useless arm.

"I shall manage," he replied. He would need to learn to do a great many things on his own in the days to come he imagined.

Porthos waited until Aramis was in the bathroom with the door closed before heading out onto the balcony. He knew Athos was hurting, that he had been taken completely off guard by the demon's taunting message. Still, Aramis was hurting, too, and he needed Athos right now.

Rather than sitting in one of the chairs, Porthos leaned against the railing so he could get a good look at Athos. His friend looked... lost. Porthos could understand. He felt a bit lost himself. However, if they wanted to get out of this alive, not to mention get d'Artagnan back, they needed to stick together. They couldn't afford to let the demon drive a wedge between them and that was exactly what it was trying to do. At the moment, it appeared to be succeeding all too well.

"You okay?" Porthos asked.

"I'm fine," Athos replied. "I am not the one that thing attacked. Again."

"No, but that doesn't mean you weren't hurt by what it did," Porthos said.

Athos merely grunted, not offering a reply. He knew he had reacted badly, that what had happened to Aramis in that alley was not really his fault. Yes, he might have been a bit reckless, but as Porthos had said, any of them would have likely done the same. It was just the thought of that _thing_ putting its hands on him, of forcing Aramis to his knees and making him... That wasn't even the worst of it. The worst, to Athos, was that Aramis went willingly. He _allowed_ that thing to use him in the hope of somehow sparing d'Artagnan. How much more was his lover going to be asked to give for the sake of getting the young man back? And what did that mean for him, for them?

"I never really saw you as the kind of guy to hold something like this against someone," Porthos said as casually as he could. He was hoping to get a rise out of Athos, something to get the man to see past his own pain and start thinking again.

"I am not holding anything against Aramis," Athos said, still looking off in the distance.

"Bullshit," Porthos shot back. "You all but said he went to that thing willingly. Asking why he didn't fight back, like he wanted what happened. I'm surprised you didn't ask him if he got off on it."

Athos' head snapped up then and he glared at Porthos. "Fuck you," he spat angrily. "I know he didn't want that thing to touch him. I know he didn't have a choice."

"Yeah? Well that ain't how you're acting," Porthos told him flatly. 

"How am I supposed to act then?" Athos asked. He sounded tired, as if learning of what happened to Aramis had sapped his strength entirely. 

"I don't know, but you could start by acting like you still want to be his lover," Porthos replied. "You do still want that, don't you?"

"Of course I still want that," Athos replied, shocked that Porthos would even ask him such a thing.

"Then you might want to start acting like it." Porthos left him then, confident that he had managed to get through to him at least somewhat. He was rewarded a few minutes later when Athos came back inside and retook his seat at the table.

"Where is he?" Athos asked, looking around the loft and seeing no sign of Aramis.

"Said he wanted a shower."

"He should not be doing that alone with his shoulder," Athos frowned.

"I offered to help but he said he'd manage," Porthos shrugged. "I got the impression he was kinda preparing himself for the future. You know, having to take care of things like that on his own."

"You have made your point," Athos said softly. He waited a few more minutes then rose and headed to the bathroom. He might be struggling, but Aramis would not be the one to pay the price for that. 

Athos opened the bathroom door carefully, not wanting to startle Aramis. What he saw when he stepped into the room made his heart ache. Aramis was standing under the spray, his head down so the water hit his shoulders and back. Athos could see that his shoulders were shaking and knew that he was crying. 

"Aramis..." he called softly.

Aramis' head shot up at the sound of Athos' voice. He scrubbed a hand over his face to rid himself of any trace of tears. "Did you need something?" Aramis asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I just wanted to check on you," Athos replied. "To see if you needed any help with your shoulder."

"Ah, no," Aramis said. "I can manage. You need not trouble yourself."

"Hey," Athos said, stepping closer. "Helping you is never any trouble. I'm sorry about how I reacted. I didn't mean to make it seem as though I... as though I blamed you in some way."

"Yes, well, you should," Aramis replied. "I was stupid. I walked right into its hands. I deserve..."

"No," Athos broke in. He began shedding his clothes quickly, the thought of Aramis crying out his pain here, alone, more than he could stand. "You don't deserve anything that thing did to you."

"What are you doing?" Aramis asked when Athos opened the shower door and stepped in behind him.

"What I should have been doing all morning. Being here for you."

"You do not need..."

"Yes, I do," Athos told him. "I love you, Aramis. I am so sorry if my reaction hurt you. I never meant for that. I never meant for it to seem as though I... I blamed you in some way."

"You should," Aramis argued, his voice small and weak. "I let it..."

"You did not let it do anything," Athos countered. "You walked into a trap. A trap any one of us could have stumbled into. After that, you did what you had to in order to survive the ordeal." Knowing Aramis was struggling with his words because of his earlier reaction, Athos decided on a different tactic. Taking up the soap, he poured some onto his hands and began slowly and carefully washing his lover. 

Aramis sucked in a breath at the feel of Athos' hands on him. He had not expected him to do such a thing but he could not deny how good it felt. It wasn't even sexual. It was just the feel of Athos' hands on him, touching him as if he still considered him precious after everything that had happened.

Athos felt Aramis tense under his hands and leaned in closer. "It's alright. I have you," he whispered as he continued to bathe him. 

"I'm so sorry," Aramis apologized, his emotions welling up once more.

"You keep saying that but you have nothing to apologize for," Athos told him. "I am sorry if I made you feel like you did. I am just grateful you came through the encounter relatively unhurt."

"I did not mean for you to find out that way," Aramis said. "I was going to tell you. I just... I needed time..."

"Shh. I understand," Athos soothed. He had finished bathing Aramis' upper body except for his injured arm and was unsure what to do. "Do you want me to wash your shoulder or should I leave it for now?"

"Wash it. Please," Aramis said at once. "I can still feel that thing's touch. I want it gone."

Athos poured more soup onto his hands and washed Aramis' arm as gently as he could. He felt Aramis tense and heard him moan softly but he did not stop. He knew he would rather endure the pain and feel clean than continue to feel the demon's phantom touch. 

Once Aramis was thoroughly bathed, even his hair washed, Athos turned off the shower. He helped him out and began to dry him, ever mindful of his arm. Once the sling was back in place, Aramis lost some of the pained look around his eyes and Athos relaxed a bit as well. He could still see that something was troubling the other man, though.

"What is it?" Athos asked as he finished drying himself and wrapping a towel around his waist.

"Nothing," Aramis said, looking away as he felt his face flame in humiliation. 

"Hey," Athos called softly, ducking down so that he could meet Aramis' eyes. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I just... I... "

"Aramis?"

"I can still taste it," Aramis finally managed, his voice strangled. He felt ashamed all over again, as if he was suddenly back in that alley on his knees in the filth and wanted to cry.

"Oh," Athos said. He understood now, but he was at a loss as to how to help the other man. He doubted if offering him something to drink would help. If it was that simple, Aramis would have taken care of it already. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do to help you."

Aramis looked at Athos and saw the sincerity on his lover's face. "I'm not sure why you would even want to," he said, shaking his head. 

"Because I love you," Athos told him again. "And there isn't anything I would not do for you."

"Including ignoring the fact I have become a demon's whore apparently," Aramis shot back, though he was speaking more to himself than Athos really. 

Athos froze, shocked speechless by Aramis' words. The self-recrimination he could hear tore at him. As did the way Aramis refused to look anywhere near his eyes, the man's gaze firmly fixed on the floor. It made Athos sick inside to think that Aramis would believe such a thing of himself and he knew he was at least partly to blame for it. His reaction had been exceedingly poor and regardless of his words now, its mark was still quite evident.

"Sweetheart..." Athos whispered, still unsure what to say. When he saw Aramis actually flinch at the endearment, the helplessness he felt turned to anger. Without thought, Athos reached out and grabbed Aramis by the arm. He spun him around to face him roughly, not caring how painful the sudden movement might be.

Aramis gasped as pain flared in his shoulder when Athos jerked him around. He stared wide-eyed at his lover, taken aback by the anger he saw in the man's eyes. For one brief second, he felt a spike of fear but he quickly quashed it. This was Athos. No matter how angry he was, how upset, how disappointed or betrayed, the man would never hurt him. Still, knowing how badly he had failed the man... hurt.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Athos said, his anger vanishing in the face of Aramis' pain. He stepped closer and gently wrapped his arms around Aramis, taking care not to cause him any further pain. He held him for long minutes, not saying anything, just holding him. When he felt Aramis finally start to relax against him, he drew back.

"Listen to me," Athos said seriously. "You are not that demons' anything, least of all its whore. I did not mean to react the way I did. I don't blame you, Aramis. I am simply thankful we got you back. That thing could have done so much worse. It could have killed you. All while I was only a few feet away.

"Please, please, tell me what I can do to help you now. What do you need?"

Aramis felt a shudder run through him. Athos' words were like a balm, yet at the same time they left him anxious. He had not been exaggerating when he said he could still taste the thing. No matter what he did, how much he scoured his mouth, he could still taste it, could still taste the flesh that had been forced into his mouth. Even now, his stomach still rebelled at the memory of being forced to swallow its seed and he flushed in renewed shame.

"Please, Sweetheart," Athos begged when he felt Aramis stiffen again. 

"Can we... can we go to our room?" Aramis asked. The bathroom was not overly large and it was starting to feel smaller by the second. 

"Of course," Athos replied. 

Clad in towels, the two slipped from the bathroom to the bedroom. Once inside, Athos closed and locked the door, hoping it might make Aramis feel safer. He pulled out sweats for both of them and helped Aramis into his before donning his own. At least partially dressed now, Athos sat down on the side of the bed with Aramis and took his hand in his.

"Talk to me," Athos pled. "Please, Sweetheart. Tell me what I can do to help you."

"I don't know."

"Alright. Then tell me what it is that still upsets you the most." 

Aramis hesitated. He did not want to talk about this with Athos. It was bad enough that his lover knew what he had done but to talk about the details with him was almost more than he could take.

"Please," Athos whispered desperately. He knew this was hard for Aramis, but he had to get him to talk about it. If not, he would never start to heal from it. 

"I can still taste it," Aramis said bitterly. He had to force the words out but if this was what Athos wanted of him then he would do so. 

"Taste it?" Athos prompted, trying not to show how sick the very thought made him.

"Its flesh," Aramis explained, blushing in mortification. "I can still taste its flesh in my mouth. It even made me..."

"Made you what?"

"S-s-swallow it," Aramis stammered. He was starting to shake again as the memories assailed him. He had felt so helpless there, in that alley on his knees. Helpless and insignificant. Athos had once spoken to him of defilement. What had occurred in that alley, that had been a true act of defilement and Aramis did not know if he would ever feel clean again.

"How can I help you?" Athos urged. He was encouraged that Aramis was talking to him even if the words were almost too much to bear. Aramis was such a gentle soul, to see him abused so harshly made Athos want to weep. 

"I am not sure you can," Aramis replied dejectedly. "I know I cannot really still... still taste that thing, yet I do."

Deciding to take a chance, Athos leaned forward. Aramis jerked back at once, his eyes going wide in panic as he stared at his lover. "What are you doing?" Aramis asked, his voice high and scared.

"Kissing you," Athos said calmly. 

"What? Why?"

"You said you could not rid yourself of the taste of that thing," Athos tried to explain. "I thought perhaps the taste of something else, something familiar and... and welcome... might help."

"How can you want to put your mouth where that thing..."

"No," Athos cut him off, refusing to even listen to that. "Nothing that thing did made me love you any less. It did not make me desire you any less. But if you do not want me to kiss you, then I won't."

Aramis didn't know what to say. He could not understand how Athos could still want him in such a way. He felt positively filthy even after Athos bathed him. He knew it was because he felt unclean on the inside but he did not know how to make that go away.

Athos saw the indecision on Aramis' face and squeezed his hand gently. "May I kiss you?" He asked, holding back this time and waiting for Aramis' permission. 

"How can you want to?" Aramis asked, still unable to conceive of how Athos could stand to put his mouth where that thing had been. 

"Because I love you," Athos said simply. "What was done to you, it was obscene. But it does not change my love for you. I still want you, Aramis, but I know you have been through an ordeal. If you are not ready for me to touch you like this, just say so. I only want to be there for you and thought it might help to replace its unwanted touch with one that was."

Aramis searched his lover's face, looking for any sign of hesitancy or disgust. When all he saw was love and affection mirrored back at him, he felt the horrible roiling within him start to calm. All at once, he needed to kiss his lover, to have the taste of _this_ man in his mouth. Surging forward, Aramis took Athos' mouth in a searing kiss. He felt Athos' lips part in surprise and thrust his tongue inside. He moaned as the familiar taste of his lover filled his mouth once more and he silently cursed his injured arm for preventing him from pulling Athos in close and holding him there.

Athos gasped in surprise when Aramis suddenly kissed him. He felt his lover's tongue shove into his mouth and simply opened his a bit wider to give Aramis all of the access he wanted. When Aramis moaned into his mouth, Athos tried to inch closer. He let the hand not holding Aramis' come to rest on the man's hip, gripping him carefully. He longed to push Aramis back onto the bed and kiss him senseless but he knew that Aramis needed to be the one to dictate how things went. For now, Athos merely let himself go pliant, allowing Aramis to take what he felt he needed from him.

Long minutes passed before Aramis finally pulled back. He rested his forehead against Athos' own as both of them panted. The kiss had not been heated so much as it had been thorough. No part of Athos' mouth had been left unmapped. Aramis felt some of the anxiety twisting inside of him ease as he concentrated on the familiar taste of his lover. It was better, but it was still not quite enough. He may no longer be able to taste the thing but he could still _feel_ it in his mouth. He knew he was being ridiculous, that it was only his own mind tormenting him, but that did not make it any less real for him.

"Tell me," Athos said. He could tell that Aramis was calmer but that there was still something troubling him. 

"I can still feel it... in my mouth... making me..."

"What can I do?"

"Can I..."

"Anything, Sweetheart," Athos vowed, meaning it. Whatever Aramis needed from him, he would gladly give it.

"Can I suck you?" Aramis asked, his voice barely audible. He had only done this with Athos once and he could not stand the thought of any other knowing him in such an intimate manner. He _needed_ Athos to take that part of him, of them, back.

Athos swallowed thickly at Aramis' request. It wasn't that he minded, but he was not sure Aramis was ready for something like that so soon after his attack. "Are you sure?" He finally asked.

"Yes," Aramis replied. He had closed his eyes when Athos hesitated, not daring to look at his lover. "But I will understand if you do not wish to."

"Look at me, please," Athos said softly, waiting until Aramis did so before continuing. "There is no way I do not want you. There is no way I am not honored to be with you. I only hesitate because I don't want you to push yourself into something you are not ready for."

"I know it is all in my mind," Aramis tried to explain. "That I cannot actually still feel... Please, Athos. Please make it go away."

Athos felt his heart break at his lover's plea. He hugged him close and kissed him lightly on the lips then pulled back. "How did you want to do this?"

"I want you to stand," Aramis said. He had to swallow against the sudden memory of that night but he forced it away. This was Athos. He could do this. 

Once Athos got to his feet, Aramis had him back up from the bed then slowly slid to his knees. He ignored Athos' indrawn breath, concentrating instead on the fact that this was Athos and he was safe. 

"Are you sure?" Athos asked again, his worry growing.

"Like this," Aramis replied. "It needs to be like this." Mind made up, Aramis reached out and together he and Athos tugged his sweatpants down. He took Athos in hand then. His cock was soft and Aramis handled him almost reverently. Despite his lover's obvious trepidation, he began to grow hard in Aramis' hand. Taking a deep breath, Aramis leaned forward and began to mouth at Athos' growing erection. 

"Aramis," Athos moaned, barely resisting the urge to bury his hands in his lover's hair. He was not sure what all the demon might have done and did not want to do anything that might thrust him back into that nightmare. 

Aramis could tell his lover was holding himself in check. Looking up at him, he smiled softly. He was so very grateful for Athos, for his constant understanding and care. "I love you," Aramis told him. "Put your hands in my hair. I want to feel you touching me."

"Alright," Athos said shakily. He carefully slid his hands into Aramis' hair and cradled his skull. He didn't try to guide his movements or even tighten his grip. He simply held his lover, letting him feel him there.

When Athos sank his hands into Aramis' hair another knot loosened his his stomach. Unlike the alley, there was no violence in this touch, no force, no pain. Athos was being as tender and gentle with him as he always was and Aramis concentrated on that to ground him. 

Feeling steadier, Aramis bent his head back to his task. He mouthed at Athos' now hard cock a bit longer then opened his mouth and took him inside. He felt Athos' hands momentarily tighten on his head before relaxing again as his lover moaned softly. Taking that as a good sign, Aramis began taking Athos in a little bit deeper. He laved the hard flesh filling his mouth with his tongue, actively seeking to give pleasure where before his only thought had been on enduring. 

Bit by bit, he took Athos in until he was taking him in to the root. He gagged the first few times he tried but he soon adjusted and was able to take him in without a problem. As he worked Athos' cock, he could hear the man moaning steadily above him, unable not to give voice to the pleasure Aramis was giving him. 

Knowing something was still missing, Aramis pulled back. He panted for a moment then looked up at Athos again. "Talk to me," he said. "I need to hear your voice."

Athos took a deep breath to calm himself then nodded. "Anything, Sweetheart," he said again. When Aramis opened his mouth and took him in again, he moaned loudly, not trying to hold it back. 

"Oh," Athos moaned. "You feel so good. I love you so much. Your mouth... your mouth... it's so hot. It feels so good on my cock."

Aramis moaned around Athos' cock, the man's words enflaming him. This, more than anything, was helping to erase those horrible memories. This was Athos. There was no one he was safer with. Keeping that in the forefront of his mind, Aramis began working on bringing his lover off. He could feel Athos' legs shaking slightly as he worked his head up and down faster and faster. 

"Aramis, I'm going to come," Athos groaned. He tugged gently at Aramis' hair in warning, unsure if the man wanted him to finish in his mouth or not. 

Taking Athos' warning to heart, Aramis wrapped his good hand around the back of his lover's thigh and took him all the way in. He held him there, forcing his throat to accept the intrusion and ran his tongue over the flesh filling his mouth as best he could. He was rewarded a few short moments later when Athos cried out and began to come, his cock pulsing deeply in Aramis' mouth as his hands tightened rhythmically in his hair.

When he felt Athos start to come, Aramis moaned weakly and held on as best he could. He felt tears sting his eyes as he and Athos toook back what the demon had so very nearly taken from them. Aramis stayed where he was, keeping Athos' cock buried inside his mouth until his lover began to soften. He pulled back gently then, earning a gasp from Athos as his lips caressed over-sensitive flesh. Still on his knees, Aramis rested his head against Athos' thigh and simply breathed. He could still feel his lover's tender fingers carding through his hair and knew he understood.

Finally, Aramis sat back on his heels and looked up at Athos. He could see the concern in his eyes and smiled reassuringly at him. "Thank you," he said, the roughness of his voice making him blush.

Athos stood looking down at Aramis, still a bit stunned. He was relieved to see some of the haunted look gone from Aramis' eyes. He knew he was not miraculously "better". But he had taken that first step. That was the important part.

"Are you okay?" Athos asked, needing to hear Aramis say the words.

"Yes," Aramis told him, nodding. He stroked Athos' hip as he knelt there looking up at the other man. He was so very grateful to Athos for everything but he knew his lover would not want to hear that right now. Athos would not think this something Aramis should thank him for. Aramis understood even if he did not entirely agree, for he was not thanking him for the act but for the care he took with him and for making the effort in the first place.

"Come on," Athos said at last, reaching down to help ease Aramis back up onto the bed. The way Aramis was looking up at him, as if he was somehow more than just a man, was more than he could take. It was Aramis who was the amazing one, not him. He would never have been able to endure a tenth of what his lover had.

"I love you so much," Aramis told him as the pair finally laid down together side by side. "I was so afraid I had lost you."

"You will never lose me, Aramis," Athos vowed. "Never."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere apologies, both for taking so very long to update this and for the shortness of this part. I wanted to get something posted on it, though and am a bit blocked at the moment so thought I would go ahead and post what I had. Thank you all so much for sticking with this (and me) for so long.

Maria had watched the birth of the New Year alone in her living room. Normally, she would have been asleep hours ago, much too old for such frivolous things. Lately, however, her sleep had been troubled, her mind too occupied to rest easily. This had been the first year since Aramis had been born that they had not spent some part of the holidays together. Even when he was assisting with Mass at one of the churches, she had been able to at least attend the service to be with him. 

It was Father Stefan's visit a few weeks before his heart attack that plagued her thoughts the most of late. He had come to talk to her about Aramis. She had very nearly closed the door in his face, but he had been adamant and she had been raised too obedient a Catholic to ever be so blatantly disrespectful. So she had invited him in for coffee and they had sat at her kitchen table and talked. 

At first, she had refused to listen to his words, shaking her head in denial time and again. It was not until Father Stefan grew exasperated with her, asking how she had the audacity to believe she knew better than God, that she finally began to listen. She would never understand the relationship between her grandson and Athos, would never believe that the man was not somehow the cause of Aramis abandoning Seminary and the priesthood, but in the end, none of that truly mattered. What mattered was that Aramis was her grandson. And she missed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the other side of town, while Athos and Porthos had been busy trying to pick up the pieces of the demon's second attack on Aramis, it had not been idle. It felt energized in a way it had not in nearly a century. It strolled aimlessly down the city streets, sticking to the shadows, not caring to encounter any errant celebrants. It did not even realize where it had meandered to until it saw the old woman open the back door and carry a bag of garbage out. 

Smiling widely, it moved closer to the house, mindful to remain hidden. Now it understood why it had been so careful to be unseen. It had been heading here all along and it would be most unfortunate to leave any witnesses behind. When it reached the side of the house, it cast out with its senses, chuckling softly when it realized the old woman was alone. 

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

It slipped into the house soundlessly. Prowling through the kitchen, its eyes landed on the counter and the block of knives resting upon it. Grinning wickedly, it slid the butcher knife from its place. This would do quite nicely. 

It found her in the living room, sitting in her rocking chair, watching the late night news. It could hear the distant sound of fireworks going off as people continued to celebrate. The old woman didn't so much as flinch, her declining hearing keeping her from noticing. 

It stood framed in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen just watching her. It could feel the boy stirring inside of them, but it ignored him knowing he could do nothing to stop what was going to happen. 

"Hello, Nana," it said, pleased when the old woman jumped. It could sense her heart pounding in her chest at the fright. It would need to be careful with this one. She was old and weak. It didn't want her to have a heart attack before it could finish with her. 

"Who are you?" Maria demanded, trying and failing to mask her fear. "What are you doing in my house? Get out!""

"Nana," it chided as it stepped into the room fully. It was careful to keep the knife down low at its side, hidden from her view.

"Why are you calling me that?" She stood up, refusing to cower in her own home. "Are you drunk? Get out! Get out or I will call the police."

"No, you won't," it said. "You won't live long enough to manage that. And even if you did, it would not matter. I'll be long gone before they get here."

"What do you want?" 

"Why to kill you, of course," the demon said, the wide, wicked smile never leaving its face even as the old woman paled before it.

Maria froze at the young man's words. She looked around frantically for some way to escape, but there was none. He was between her and the only way out of the room. She started to scream, then remembered that she was alone, her family not likely to be home for hours yet. She was both dismayed and grateful at the same time. At least they would be safe.

"Why?" Maria whispered, fear stealing her voice. "What have I ever done to you? I do not even know you."

"Me? Nothing," it said. "Aramis sends his regards, though."

"Aramis!" She gasped. "He... he sent you here?"

"In a manner of speaking I suppose." It stalked closer to her, enjoying the smell of her fear. Scared though she was, she stood her ground, refusing to cower. It could see where the Priest got his strength of will from. 

"No. I refuse to believe that," she shook her head. She and her grandson may be at odds right now, but he would never do such a thing. No matter how hedonistic he may have become, he was still a good boy at heart. 

"He didn't send me here to kill you," it admitted. "He would never do that, no matter how deserving of it you might be. No, your death will actually wound him quite deeply. Poor little Aramis. I wonder how much more he will be willing to suffer for the sake of his lover."

"You won't break him," she said defiantly. 

"Won't I?" The demon taunted, its eyes turning black as pitch. It laughed when she gasped and crossed herself. It was much too late for that. Her God was not going to intercede on her behalf. He would not save her. 

Maria's eyes hardened as the thing in front of her laughed at her faith. That this monster would come into her home, would threaten her here, where her family lived, was an abomination, but she would not be cowed. Not here. Not by this _thing_. 

"No," Maria told it. "You won't. My grandson is stronger than you think. He's stronger than you, of that I am sure."

"Really?"

"If losing his entire family wasn't enough to break him, the likes of you certainly won't."

"Such faith you have in him," the demon mused. "I would have expected you to be cursing his name. After all, you are about to die a rather painful death because of him."

"No," Maria replied. "I may be about to die, but it is not because of my grandson. You will not lay your evil at his feet. He is a... a good boy... a good man."

"And yet you curse him, call him a deviant and a sodomite, denounce him in front of all and sundry simply because he dares to love someone you do not approve of."

"That is between me and my grandson," Maria said, trying not to show how stricken she was by its words. The fact that she was going to die here did not bother her so much. She was an old woman after all. But to die without ever making peace with her grandson tore at her. She hated to think that he would spend the rest of his days thinking she had hated him. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"Ah, now you see," it smirked, enjoying drawing out her pain. It turned away from her, moving toward the other side of the room. It was curious to see what she might do. Would she stubbornly stand her ground or would she attempt to flee?

"He thinks his love for Athos will somehow save them," it went on. "He's wrong, of course. I told him before that love was a liability, though he might not remember it. He was somewhat preoccupied. I was raping him in an alley at the time, you see."

"No," Maria gasped, horrified to think of this monster hurting her grandson in such a vile manner. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing away the sickening thought. She knew the thing was baiting her, that it was giving her an opening just to see what she would do. She might be an old woman but she was not stupid. 

Maria knew she was not going to survive this encounter. She was not afraid to die, not truly. The only thing she feared was one of her grandchildren coming home while this monster was still here. That Aramis had been at this thing's mercy was bad enough. She would not allow another of her own to fall victim to it. All she needed to do was to get to the kitchen.

A few years ago, there had been a series of break-ins near their neighborhood. Her family had insisted she get an alarm system installed that connected directly to the police station. All she had to do was push a button and the police would respond. She knew they would not be in time to save her, but their presence would most likely be enough to drive this thing off before any of the others came home. But first, she had to get to the kitchen. 

Crossing herself, Maria summoned every ounce of faith she had to force her feet to move. Though the thing’s back was to her, she could almost see it smile as she edged toward the doorway. It thought she sought escape, that she saw safety and freedom on the other side of the threshold. Maria was not so naïve as all that. Nothing but death awaited her on the other side of that threshold but she would not shrink from it. Not here. Not now. Not like this. She could not. Not if she wanted to protect those that she still could. She understood now that this was being done for no other reason than to hurt Aramis, to wound her grandson as deeply as possible. 

What made her think this thing would stop at her? 

What made her think it would not slaughter everyone her grandson had left?

Maria knew God did not test us with more than we could bear, but surely Aramis had borne enough by now. Surely he had been as tested and tried as any man. Had not even Job despaired at the end, wondering how much more God would demand of him?

“Going somewhere, Nana?” it asked as it turned toward her.

“Just getting a drink of water,” Maria replied as sweetly as she could, as if daring the thing. “Surely you wouldn’t deny an old woman a glass of water.”

“Of course not,” it replied, its eyes narrowing as it watched her. It could tell she was up to something but it did not know what. Her heart was no longer hammering in her chest and her eyes had a look that was both resigned and determined at the same time. 

“What are you up to, old woman?” it asked as it continued to study her.

“Getting a glass of water,” Maria smiled back. “What are you up to, monster?”

“Killing you and spreading your entrails all over your kitchen,” the demon replied nastily.

Maria could not help but blanch at that, swaying forward as the color drained from her face. She had the wits to use it to her advantage, though, knowing she would not get another chance. She gripped onto the edge of the counter as if using it to hold herself up and felt along the underside for the emergency button. Once she found it, she moaned and gripped onto the counter even harder as relief threatened to buckle her knees. Her family would be safe now. 

Realizing her ruse, the thing masquerading as d’Artagnan stormed around the kitchen island and jerked her away from it, throwing her to the ground. “That was very foolish, Nana,” it snarled, his eyes going black once more.

“Go to Hell, monster.”

“Where do you think I came from?” It raised the knife then, finally letting her see it and smiled widely at the fear she could no longer hide.


	8. Chapter 8

Aramis and Athos were sitting back on the bed side by side, their hands tightly linked. While Athos wanted nothing more than to wrap Aramis in his arms, he understood that Aramis needed a bit of space. His lover wasn’t pushing him away after everything that had happened, that was good enough for him. He supposed he should go out and let Porthos know that everything was okay, or at least as okay as could be expected. He was about to suggest as much when Aramis’ phone went off, making them both jump.

Aramis squeezed his hand, chuckling in nervous relief as he reached across him for his phone on the nightstand. He frowned when he saw his cousin’s number. He had no idea why she would be calling him, especially so early in the morning.

“Hello?” Aramis said. His heart began to pound when he heard the sound of his cousin crying. “Celeste? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Aramis… Aramis… It’s N-N-Na-Nana,” she stammered through her tears. 

“Celeste, what’s happened?” Aramis asked. He was already getting up, his mind racing as he headed toward the dresser.

“Someone… someone broke in,” she finally managed. “Oh Aramis… Nana… Nana’s dead.” 

Aramis nearly lost his grip on the phone at his cousin’s grief-stricken words. He could hear her sobbing and forced himself to move. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Are you safe? Is everyone…”

“Y-yes,” Celeste replied. “The police are here. Hurry, please.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aramis felt his stomach turn when he saw the yellow tape blocking off his grandmother’s house as they pulled up across the street. There were several police cars parked in front of it and three of his cousins stood clustered together, just outside the tape barrier. 

Aramis was out of the SUV before it had even stopped all the way, heading straight for Celeste. When his cousin saw him, she broke away from the other two and rushed toward him. Aramis opened his arms just in time for her to barrel into him and he had to bite back tears of his own as she began to sob into his chest. 

“Shh, I know, Pequita. I know,” Aramis crooned as he held her. He could feel her shaking in his arms and his heart ached for her. She was the youngest of them and he knew Nana’s loss would hit her the hardest, even if they had butted heads the strongest at times.

Athos and Porthos had just walked up behind him as a man in a suit, a badge clipped to his pocket, approached. “Excuse me,” he said. “You are?”

“Th-th-this is Aramis,” Celeste said from the vicinity of his chest. “Our cousin.”

“Ah, the grandson,” the man said. “I’m Detective Chambers. We’ve got some questions for you, Mr…”

“Herblay,” Aramis replied, his voice strained as he fought to control himself. “Do we need to do this right now?”

“Your grandmother was murd…” He was interrupted by an angry shriek and his head snapped toward the source of it.

“You bastard!” Nala shouted as she lunged toward where Aramis and Celeste stood. “How dare you come here?”

“Nala, calm down,” Benito said, holding tight to his cousin to keep her from charging across the short distance and attacking Athos on the spot.

Suddenly, Nala’s eyes shifted minutely, going from Athos to Aramis. “I can’t believe you brought that piece of shit here. After everything he did. He did this! Damn you, Aramis! He did this! How can you not see that?”

“Alright, Miss Escobar, that’s enough,” another detective said, stepping in front of Nala and blocking her view of Athos. 

“Jesus,” Athos muttered under his breath. He had not expected such an attack, not here and certainly not now. One glance at Aramis showed that he, too, had been taken completely off guard. He was pale, his skin ashen, and he was fighting not to shake.

“Don’t listen to her, Aramis,” Celeste whispered. “She’s just upset. We… we all are, but… Nana… she was saying all kinds of things about Athos… about what he was doing to you. Nala… she…”

“Mr. Herblay, I think it would be best for everyone if you came back to the station with us,” Detective Chambers said. “You and your friends. We just have a few questions to go over.”

“What kind of questions?” Athos asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Just some timeline stuff,” Chambers said. “But I think it would be best if you all weren’t here right now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It watched the proceedings across the street, drinking in the pain it had caused. It found hurting the Priest almost as enjoyable as hurting the Survivor. Didn’t that open up all sorts of possibilities? After all, the priest still had an entire family left to decimate. There would be time for that later, thought. For now, it would enjoy the pain it had already wrought.

As it watched, it felt something wet on its lip. Reaching up, it wiped at it and was unsurprised when its fingers came away covered in blood. Normally, it entered a body only long enough to make its kills before leaving again. It didn’t ride a body this long. This was the reason why. Humans were such delicate creatures. Their bodies were not made to house ones such as it. They could not bear the strain. While this one had held out longer than it had expected, this body was rapidly reaching the end of its endurance. It would need to find a new host. 

It thought about all the ones it could take that would hurt the Priest and the Survivor most. It considered the big one but dismissed it. While it would be painful to them, it would not be painful enough. Besides, he would gladly trade himself for the boy. What was the challenge in that?

Taking the Survivor was a thought. It had never taken two in such close relation before. It wondered what it would feel like to take the son so long after taking his mother. It wondered if the Survivor might enjoy a first-hand view of those memories, the ones of his father getting his throat slit and his little brother dying on his kitchen table. Normally, the Survivor would be protected. It would not be able to take him if it wanted to. But it had been over a decade and these sorts of protections faded with time. It had a feeling the Survivor was as vulnerable to it as the Priest was now. Speaking of the Priest, he was another choice. And wouldn’t that be a delicious agony for the Survivor, to know that his beloved Aramis was now its vessel? It thought it might be a special kind of Hell for the Priest as well. After all, he would know all that it knew, all that it had done. It wondered if the Priest might enjoy seeing his dear Nana one last time.

With decisions to make, it slipped away, careful not to be seen. It needed to think, to plan. Its window was small and it could not afford to err. Not that the loss of this body would destroy it, but it would lose its chance at the others and it did not want them to slip through its fingers. Now it only had to decide which of them it wanted more, the Survivor or the Priest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They followed the detective to the police station reluctantly. Aramis hadn’t wanted to leave regardless of Nala’s outburst. Celeste had told him to go on, that his staying would only make it harder and that the detective was obviously not going to back off until he did. Aramis had told her to call him at once if she needed anything then had let Athos lead him back to Porthos’ SUV. Now they were sitting at the police station waiting to talk to the detective.

Detective Chambers didn’t keep them waiting long. “Thank you for coming in. If you could come with me, Mr. Herblay, I just have a few questions to go over.” He saw Athos start to rise and held up his hand. “This shouldn’t take but a moment.” 

Aramis looked back at Athos somewhat helplessly but allowed the detective to lead him into a small room. He didn’t know what was going on but he could tell that something was not right. He had thought the detective’s insistence that he come to the police station now was odd enough, but separating him from Athos was almost too much. Before he realized what was happening, Aramis felt his arms being yanked behind him roughly and metal cuffs being snapped tightly on his wrists.

“What’s going on?” Aramis demanded, equal parts surprised and outraged. He was exhausted and on edge, still reeling from what had happened to him and now his grandmother. He was tired of being jerked around, first by the demon and now by this man.

“Sit down,” Detective Chambers said as he all but shoved him into a chair before walking around and sitting down across the table from him. “So. How well do you know your two friends out there?”

“I’ve known Athos for over seven years,” Aramis replied, taken aback. He could feel the metal of the cuffs digging into his wrists painfully and tried not to fidget. “We’ve known Porthos for, I don’t know, about six months or so I guess. Why did you handcuff me? What’s going on?”

“Your grandmother was butchered in her home a few hours ago, that’s what’s going on,” Chambers said, watching him closely for a reaction before pressing on. “Did you know that Porthos has a record?”

“No, I wasn’t aware of that. I also wasn’t aware that it was my business. Why are you asking me all of this? Am I under arrest or something?”

“Not yet,” Chambers said. “Your cousin, Nala, seems to think Athos might have had something to do with your grandmother’s death. What do you think?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Aramis scoffed then sighed. He tried not to squirm in the chair, not wanting to appear uncomfortable. The cuffs were so tight they were cutting off the circulation to his hands. He doubted if the detective would care very much, though. “My grandmother didn’t like Athos. She didn’t like him when we became friends and that dislike turned to hatred when I dropped out of Seminary. She blamed him for my decision. She thought he… corrupted me.”

“Did he?”

“No,” Aramis replied. “The decision to leave Seminary was my own. He never asked me to do that. And before you ask, our relationship was still firmly that of friends at the time, no matter what my grandmother might have thought.”

“So why is Nala so convinced Athos had something to do with her death?”

“Because, as I said, my grandmother hated Athos and she was not quiet about it. Nala… Nala can be very impressionable. She tends to believe everything my grandmother says… said.” 

“Are you so sure she’s wrong?”

“Yes,” Aramis said adamantly. “For one thing, why would Athos even bother? My grandmother was of no consequence to him. She was a nuisance, but only to me.”

“You would be surprised what people will do out of possessiveness.”

“Athos is not possessive,” Aramis snapped, irritably. “You are wasting your time. He had nothing to do with this. And before you say it, neither did Porthos. Besides, they were both with me last night.”

“All night?”

“Yes, all night,” Aramis said then blushed when he realized how that sounded. “I… I was having a bad night. I have nightmares sometimes.”

“Really? What about?”

Aramis stared at the man, appalled that he would ask such a thing. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t tell the man about d’Artagnan, that would only get him asking more questions, questions they really could not answer. In the end, he settled for the only thing he could think of.

“My family,” he said softly. “There was a car accident when I was a child. Everyone died but me. I still dream of the car going into the lake. Now either take these things off of me or call my lawyer. Athos can give you his number.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as the door closed behind Aramis a pair of detectives approached Athos and Porthos. Porthos stiffed when he saw them coming, nudging Athos with his foot. He’d had a feeling they had separated Aramis for a reason. Now it was their turn. 

“They’re going to take us into different rooms,” he whispered to Athos. “That’s why he took Aramis first.”

Athos nodded carefully. “Don’t say anything you don’t think is wise,” he whispered back. “I can have my lawyer here in ten minutes.”

“Mr. du Vallon, I’m Detective Fitzgerald. Can you come with me for a moment?”

“Yeah, sure,” Porthos said wryly casting a final glance at Athos before following the detective into a room of his own. 

“Looks like you really hit the jackpot,” Fitzgerald said as closed the file he was reading and looked up at Porthos. “Says here de la Fere bought whole building you live in. Put it in your name and everything.”

“He put it in the company name,” Porthos corrected.

“Of which you are a part.”

“Of which I am a part, yes. You got a point?”

“Like I said, you really hit the jackpot.” Fitzgerald paused, studying Porthos. The look on his face made it clear that he thought the man was only using Athos, and by association Aramis. “He know about your past? That you’ve got a record? Guys like de la Fere, they don’t usually consort with guys like you.”

“Guys like me,” Porthos snorted. “Just what kind of guy would that be?”

“Con artists, hoods, thugs,” Fitzgerald said, attempting to bait him. “Unless, of course, you work for him. Is that it, du Vallon? Are you on his payroll? His bought and paid for thug?”

“Nobody owns me,” Porthos said, anger coloring his words. He knew what the cop was trying to do. It was what they always tried to do, make him angry so he made a mistake, said the wrong thing, admitted something he didn’t intend to. The thing was, Porthos hadn’t done anything wrong. Neither had Athos or Aramis. The cops were just fishing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And which room are we going to?” Athos asked the detective left standing with him. He knew he was being somewhat confrontational, and unwisely so at that, but he was growing angry. Aramis had been through more than any one man could ever be expected to bear. Yet rather than being allowed to go home and grieve with his family, they were being kept here and questioned as if they were common criminals. Porthos may be willing to allow such treatment to pass with relatively little protest, Athos was not.

“Right in here,” Detective Franklin smirked, leading Athos into the room next to where they had been sitting. “You really think you’re the man in charge, don’t you?”

“Hardly,” Athos replied, his eyes never leaving the detective as he sat down. “But I refuse to be treated as if I have done something wrong when I have not.”

“Innocent as a choir boy, huh? This is all just one big misunderstanding, is that it?”

“If I knew what it was you were referring to, other than the death of Aramis’ grandmother, I might be able to answer that question.”

“Murder,” Franklin said. “Not the death of his grandmother, the murder. Get it right.”

“Since I was not there and only know the little bit you have bothered to share, I will have to take your word for it.”

“Oh, you’re a smart one alright. Smart and rich. This doesn’t throw you at all, does it? Then again, this isn’t the first blood covered kitchen you’ve walked into. Tell me something, de la Fere, did you kill them, too?”

Athos was lunging across the table before he even knew he was moving. He had no more than curled a fist in the detective’s shirt before strong hands were grabbing him from behind and dragging him back into the chair. 

“Cool it! Cool it!” Another detective shouted as he held Athos down in his chair, not letting up until Athos stopped fighting him. “I’m gonna let you go. If you make a move at him again, I’ll throw you in jail for assaulting a police officer. Understand?”

“Yes,” Athos said succinctly. It was all he could do to hold on to his temper. He knew the man had only been goading him to get a reaction. Still, to be accused of murdering his own family enraged him. 

“Got quite a temper there,” Franklin chuckled. “Did you get pissed at the old lady? Is that what happened? She kept giving Aramis a hard time and you finally decided enough was enough.”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to Aramis’ grandmother,” Athos replied, refusing to rise to the bait again. 

“No? What about your boy?” Franklin asked. “You get him to do it for you? Big guy like him, would have been a piece of cake.”

“Porthos had nothing to do with it either.”

“Oh yeah? Then I guess it must have been Aramis that dropped this at the scene,” Franklin said. He pulled out a plastic evidence bag and slid it across the table to Athos. Inside, was a blood-covered business card bearing their company logo and contact information. “It was under the old lady’s body. Means she was alive when whoever it was dropped it. Most likely when they were slicing her up.”

Athos stared at the card, shocked. He’d had them printed up shortly after the purchase of the building had been finalized. Very few people outside of the four of them had one. Still, these men did not necessarily know that.

“It is a business card,” Athos said, sliding the bag back across the table. “Any one of a hundred people could have dropped it there. That is assuming, of course, its placement was an accident at all. If this is the only reason we are being detained here then we are leaving.”

“And if I say you’re not?”

“Then I am calling my lawyer. You and your superiors can explain this harassment to him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aramis was just this side of panicking when Chambers finally returned to the interrogation room. He understood that was where he was being kept now and was in turns angry and frightened and yet more angry. Having his hands cuffed behind him like this was bringing back memories he never wished to relive, of rope and a pool and cold, filthy water. 

“Well, your sugar daddy is threatening to lawyer up so I guess our time’s up for now,” Chambers said as he hauled Aramis to his feet none too gently. 

Aramis thought about complaining of the treatment, about pressing the fact that he had told the man he wanted his lawyer some time ago, but he didn’t. He was finally being let out of the handcuffs and didn’t want to do anything that might hinder that. Besides, if Athos was threatening to sic his lawyers on them then things were not going well for any of them.

When he walked back out into the waiting area, Athos and Porthos were already there. Both men were tense as they waited for him to appear. Both looked angrier than he had ever seen them before. He started to say something but Athos shook his head sharply. A moment later, he found himself being flanked by the pair as they hustled him out of the police station and into Porthos’ SUV. 

“What the hell is going on?” Aramis all but wailed once they were safely under way.

“They think we did it,” Athos said in disgust. “They think we killed your grandmother.”

“Well, they think I did it,” Porthos corrected, “but that Athos gave the order.”

“What?” Aramis gasped, frowning in confusion.

“Apparently, I’m his hired thug.”

“They said that to you?” Athos asked, his voice low and quiet in a way that Aramis knew from experience was bad. Very, very bad.

“Among other things, yeah.”

“Turn the fucking car around,” Athos told him, the lid on his simmering rage rattling dangerously.

“I don’t think so,” Porthos snorted. “I do that and you really will be up on murder charges.” 

“They had no right…”

“Please,” Aramis said softly, stopping Athos mid-rant. “I just want to go home.”

Athos closed his eyes at the pain in his lover’s voice. He carefully pulled Aramis to him, mindful of all he had so recently been through. He was relieved when Aramis seemed to burrow into his arms, seeking solace in his embrace rather than shying from it. He wished he could do more, could offer his lover more than simply a pair of arms to hold him but at the moment, that was all he had.

“Get us home,” Athos said to Porthos. He would deal with the bigoted police force later. At the moment, he had more urgent matters to worry about.

Porthos took every short cut he knew to get them home as quickly as possible. He could understand Athos’ anger, hell he was outraged himself though he was used to it. He wasn’t really sure why Athos was so upset about it, other than perhaps disliking the insinuation that he was the kind of guy to have thugs on his payroll in the first place. Whatever the reason, Porthos didn’t care at the moment. Aramis was spent. He was still trying to deal with what happened in the alley last night. His shoulder had to still be hurting him as well. Now he had this to deal with.

He knew that Aramis and the old biddy had been at odds, but he also knew that Aramis had not written her off, not completely. Porthos didn’t think him capable of completely writing someone off. That meant he had hoped, at least in the back of his mind, for a reconciliation. Now she was gone and so was any chance he’d had of making things right again. That, more than anything, would be what ate at Aramis the most.

Back inside the loft, Porthos went to put some fresh coffee on while Athos made a quick call to his lawyer, wanting to bring him up to date just in case they had a sudden need for him. Alone in the living room, Aramis just sat on the sofa for a minute trying to figure out what to do next. As he sat, he began to register a host of aches and pains that he had not before. The worst of the lot was his shoulder. He had not even felt it when the detective had jerked his arms behind his back and cuffed him. He was certainly feeling it now, though. 

Pushing himself to his feet, he began carefully working his jacket off. He had to bite his lip at the searing pain that lanced up his shoulder and all down his arm as he moved it. Once his good arm was free, he let the jacket fall to the floor then dropped back down on the couch. All at once, he felt exhaustion settle over him, thick and heavy. He was just so tired. Closing his eyes, he let his head come to rest on the back of the couch. Between one breath and the next, he was asleep.

Athos came in from the balcony having finished with his lawyer at the same time that Porthos came in from the kitchen, three steaming mugs of coffee in hand. Both men paused when they saw Aramis asleep on the couch, his jacket piled in a heap at his feet. Smiling fondly, Athos went to pick it up. When he bent down beside his lover, however, what he saw froze the smile right off his face.

In working his way out of the restrictive jacket, Aramis’ sleeves had ridden up leaving his wrists and forearms bared. It was the state of his wrists that had Athos clenching his fists in renewed rage. Dark, livid bruises stood out against the normally tan skin, making it look sallow. He couldn’t tell if they went all the way around but it appeared that they did. He heard the sound of the mugs hitting the coffee table loudly and realized that Porthos had seen the damage, too. Casting a quick glance at the man, he saw the same question mirrored in his eyes. What the hell had they done to him in that place?

Athos threw Aramis’ jacket down onto the couch beside him and spun around intent on returning to the police station and demanding to know what had been done to his lover. He did not manage to take so much as a step before Porthos’ hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm. 

“Let go,” Athos snarled, his eyes going to Porthos’ hand then up to the man’s face.

“No,” Porthos said, giving Athos’ arm a squeeze for good measure. “I know you want to go back there and raise hell, but you can’t.”

“Really? Watch me.”

“You’ll only end up getting yourself arrested. He doesn’t need that.”

“Do you see his wrists?” Athos shouted as he wrenched his arm out of Porthos’ grip. He was so angry he was panting and he didn’t understand why Porthos didn’t seem to care.

“I’m not fucking blind,” Porthos shot back equally angry. He took a step forward, moving closer to the pair, and kicked Aramis’ foot with his own. That coupled with their raised voices was enough to rouse the younger man out of the light doze he had fallen into.

Aramis came awake with a start to the sound of raised voices and the feel of something hitting hit his foot. He shot up on the couch, crying out in a combination of fear and surprise, his mind not registering the loud, hulking bodies standing over him as those of Athos and Porthos at first.

“Hey, hey, it’s just us,” Porthos said quickly, taking a step back. He knew how imposing he could be at times, especially when he was angry. For Aramis to come awake to him like that would have been frightening on a good day.

“What’s wrong?” Aramis said once he got his heart to stop hammering quite so wildly. Looking back and forth between the two of them he could tell that something was wrong. Athos was every bit as angry as he had been when they had first left the police station and Porthos was almost as bad.

Athos stared at Aramis agape before reaching down and grabbing his arm just above the bruises encircling his right wrist. “What happened to you? Who did this?” He demanded hotly, his anger in danger of boiling over.

“Athos, man, ease up,” Porthos said.

Aramis grimaced, trying not to cry out as Athos yanked his arm upward, his damaged shoulder protesting the sudden movement. He felt fear twist his insides but he forced it away. This was Athos. He was angry, but not at him. He would not hurt him. 

Athos was having a hard time seeing past the blind rage that threatened to consume him again. All he could think about was the fact that his lover had been hurt yet again, practically right under his nose, and he had done nothing to prevent it. 

“Athos,” Porthos repeating, putting the slightest touch of bite in his words. “Let go. You’re hurting him.”

Athos’ eyes shot to Aramis’ and what he saw there had him dropping his hand and staggering back. The look of relief that his lover was unable to hide only made him feel worse. He tried to take another step back, to put some more distance between them, when Porthos’ hand on his arm stopped him once more.

“Athos?” Aramis called out, reaching toward the man with his good arm. 

Athos had to close his eyes briefly at the sight of the dark bruises that encircled this wrist as well. He did not shy away though. Instead, he took Aramis’ hand and let the man pull him down next to him. “Are you badly hurt?” Athos asked, his words strangled as he fought to keep his emotions in check. 

“No,” Aramis said. “Detective Chambers had the cuffs on rather tight is all.”

“Cuffs?” Athos gasped, the word seeming as though it was punched out of him.

“Athos?” Aramis frowned. He looked back and forth between the two men, noting their even more thunderous expressions. “What did I say?”

“They cuffed you,” Porthos snarled, his hands opening and closing as he fought to calm down. Aramis was on edge enough as it was. He didn’t need him and Athos both losing it on him. 

“So? I would assume that was standard procedure in a murder…”

“The fuckers didn’t cuff us,” Porthos cut in. “And even if there was call for it, which there fucking wasn’t, it shouldn’t have left your wrists black and blue. That son of a bitch better hope I never run across him near a dark alley…”

“Porthos, no,” Aramis said, alarmed by his friend’s anger. He could understand it, he supposed. If one of them had come home with bruises, he would be furious, but he did not want to see it incite this man to violence. Porthos was not a violent man by nature, no matter what his physique might imply. Aramis would not see that change because of him.

“If I cannot go and thrash the bastard, you cannot jump him in an alley,” Athos added. He, too, was surprised by the strength of Porthos’ reaction. He knew Porthos cared about Aramis, about his well-being, about what happened to him. Perhaps now, Aramis might realize just how much he truly did mean to their big friend.

Porthos blew out a breath and reluctantly nodded. Athos was right. As much as he wanted to, they couldn’t take the risk. They needed to stick together, now more than anything. Showing themselves to be violent and out of control would only play into the cops’ hands. More important than that, the demon was still on the loose. They couldn’t afford to let their guard down, to let it separate them. Every time they had done that, Aramis had ultimately paid the price. Porthos was not going to let that happen again.

Porthos dumped out the coffee and made them all some tea instead. They had ended up sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch, Aramis insisting that Porthos join them rather than taking his usual arm chair. Porthos hadn’t minded. At least here, with Aramis pressed up against his side, he could make sure the man didn’t get hurt again. 

“I should call Celeste,” Aramis said after finishing his tea. Between it, the earlier nap short though it was, and the two men bracketing him so protectively, he felt steadier than he had since the whole nightmare in the alley began. 

“Do you want us to give you some privacy?” Porthos asked.

“No, please,” Aramis said quickly. “This will be difficult enough. I’m not sure I could face it on my own. Celeste, she and our grandmother were often at odds, but she is a gentle soul. For such a thing to happen in her very home, where she should be safe, I fear she will carry the scars of this with her for a very long time.”

“Call her, Sweetheart,” Athos urged gently. He knew how much family meant to Aramis. Just as he knew how much the absence of his family, thanks to the rift with his grandmother, had hurt him. None of that mattered to Aramis, though. All he cared about was being there for his cousins, especially the younger ones like Celeste. 

Aramis pulled out his phone, sitting forward on the couch a bit. His hand grew sweaty as he waited for her to pick up. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when she finally answered. “Celeste, hey,” Aramis said softly. He could hear her sniffling through the phone and felt his heart clench. He wished so badly that he could be there for her right now but his presence would likely only set Nala off all over again and none of them needed that.

“Oh ‘Mis,” Celeste cried. “It’s just… just so… so-so-so ob-ob-ob-scene. And the police… the police… they won’t… they won’t…”

“Celeste, slow down,” Aramis said, gripping his cellphone tightly as his stomach knotted in fear. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“On the wall,” Celeste managed after taking a deep, shuddering breath. “And the police won’t let us… won’t let us…”

“What is on the wall?” Aramis demanded, trying to keep his voice calm to keep from upsetting his young cousin even more. 

“Whoever… whoever did this… He wrote… Oh, Aramis, I can’t!” She began to cry then, great wracking sobs.

Aramis simply waited, whispering soothing words of nonsense to her in a combination of English and Spanish, trying to get her to calm down again. His own heart felt like it was going to hammer right out of his chest. He felt hot and cold at once, the constant shifting making him feel sick.

“Celeste, listen to me,” Aramis said once her crying had eased off again. “Use your phone and take a picture of the wall. Just take a picture of it and send it to me. That’s all you have to do. Can you do that for me, Pequita?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Celeste said. “Just give me a sec.” 

Aramis tried not to fidget as he waited for Celeste to take the picture and send it to him. His leg was bouncing up and down and he started when Athos laid his hand on top of it. Looking at the other two men, he could see the same wariness he felt mirrored in their eyes. 

His attention was jerked back to the phone when Celeste came back on the line. “I texted it to you,” she said, sniffling slightly.

“Alright. Let me just look at it real quick, okay.” Aramis pulled the phone away from his ear and pulled up the text message from his cousin. Athos and Porthos both leaned closer to get a better look. What Aramis saw when he brought up the picture nearly caused him to drop the phone. 

_****_ ****

**_NEXT TIME_ **

It was the same message that had been scrawled in cat’s blood on their bedroom wall not so long ago. Now that very same message was scrawled in his grandmother’s blood on her kitchen wall. Even the handwriting, such that it was, looked the same and Aramis felt a horrific realization settle over him.

“Celeste, listen to me,” he said urgently. “Pack a back and get out of the house. Do it now.” The demon had done this. It had walked into her home and… and if it could do it once it could do it again. Instead of fear, however, Aramis felt anger roll through him like a wave. He was done being this monster’s plaything. 

“What?” Celeste asked, confusion coloring her words.

“You need to leave the house,” Aramis repeated firmly.

“But the police said it should be safe. They’re patrolling more…”

“Celeste,” Aramis snapped, causing her to gasp. He took a deep breath and began again more calmly. “I know that they are. I also know it isn’t safe for you to be there. Please, Pequita, you need to trust me.”

“Alright,” Celeste said. In truth, she wasn’t thrilled about the idea of staying in the house but she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Not really. “But…”

“What is it?” Aramis asked.

“I don’t know where to go,” she admitted.

Athos squeezed Aramis’ knee then, causing him to look up at him. “Can she be ready to go in half an hour?”

“Yes,” she replied, having heard him.

Aramis nodded and Athos smiled softly. “I’ll have a cab waiting for her. There are furnished apartments a few blocks from the university. I’ll call and arrange for one to be waiting for her.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said. For one brief moment he had started to protest and then he had stopped. Getting Celeste someplace safe was worth far more than his pride would ever be. He wished he could convince the others not to stay there but he knew it was futile. Nala wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say and neither would Benito. Besides, they both had places they could go if they wanted to leave. Celeste was the only one that had truly been dependent on their grandmother.

“Aramis, I can’t let him do that,” Celeste said, having heard their conversation.

“You can and you will,” Aramis told her. “It is not safe there. Not for you. Once this business has been taken care of, we can see about making other arrangements, but for now this will have to do.”

Aramis stayed on the phone with her until she was safely in the taxi on the way to her new apartment. He had told her to call him as soon as she arrived and let him know that everything was okay. Athos had spoken to the landlord personally and made sure that he understood the situation. The man had assured him that he would keep a close eye on Celeste. Two of his nieces lived in the same building. He would make sure the girls introduced themselves and helped Celeste to get settled in. In the back of his mind, Athos hoped they might convince the girl to make the move permanent. With her grandmother gone, there really was no reason for her to return to that house and getting away from Nala’s hate-filled rhetoric would only benefit her.

“She will not wish to be a burden for long,” Aramis said as he tossed his phone on the coffee table. 

“She isn’t a burden at all, but I understand that she might see it differently. I will speak with the school. Perhaps we can work something out for her room and board,” Athos said.

“She has a scholarship but only for tuition and books. She has to pay room and board herself. It’s why she was still living with Nana.”

“Aramis,” Athos said, taking his lover’s hand and squeezing it. “I will take care of it. I am sure the school will be more than willing to make a special accommodation considering Celeste’s circumstances.”

“You donate a good bit of money to that school, don’t you?” Porthos asked with a bit of a smirk.

“Some,” Athos conceded with a nod. “Enough that they will take my request under advisement. And even if they don’t, it will suffice for now. She is out of harm’s way and the demon will have no way to know where she is. She is safe.”

With the matter of Celeste settled, the three men fell silent, each of them thinking about the bloody note that had been scrawled on the kitchen wall of Aramis’ grandmother’s house. _NEXT TIME_. It was the very same thing the demon had scrawled on Aramis’ bedroom wall in cat’s blood. It left no doubt as to who was behind the old woman’s death. What they didn’t know was what they were going to do about it.

“It was d’Artagnan,” Aramis said at last, the words soft and pained.

“No,” Athos said firmly. “It was the demon. D’Artagnan is innocent.”

“Not sure the cops are gonna see it that way,” Porthos said worriedly.

“We shall worry about that if the time comes,” Athos said. “I doubt if the demon was foolish enough to leave anything incriminating behind.” Athos laughed then, making the other two look at him sharply. Of course, it all made sense now. The demon had not done anything to incriminate itself, but it had made certain the police were firmly pointed in their direction.

“What?” Porthos asked.

“At the police station,” Athos explained. “One of the detectives showed me a bloody business card. He said it was under… under her body. He insinuated that the killer might have dropped it.”

“You think he dropped one of our business cards?” Aramis asked. He was still reeling from the discovery that d’Artagnan had killed his grandmother. He knew that it wasn’t really him, that it was the demon in the guise of him, but she had still died at his hand. She had still died, ultimately, because he had brought the young man into her life.

“No. The demon would never be so careless. It planted it there, even going so far as to ensure it was beneath the body. It was deliberate, meant to cast suspicion on us.”

“It was a taunt,” Porthos added. “Just like the wall. Its way of letting us know it can get to anyone it wants, that it can do anything it wants, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

“I would think it had already proved that most effectively,” Aramis said softly, his own encounter in the alley coming to mind at once. 

“Alright, enough,” Porthos said, kicking himself for picking at wounds that had barely begun to scab over. “We need to think this through. There’s more here than we’re seeing. There has to be.”

“It said love is the cause of this,” Aramis said, making the two men pause.

“When?” Athos asked.

“In… in the alley. It… it talked a bit. I didn’t really remember before with, uh, everything.”

“That’s understandable,” Porthos said. He tried to keep his voice calm and even. The last thing Aramis needed right now was another emotional outburst. “Do you remember anything else it said? Even bits and pieces might help.”

“Um, it said love was what began this whole cycle. It said…” Aramis’ eyes cut to Athos then looked away sharply. He remembered what the demon had said now, about Athos’ quest for answers being the reason it had returned, the reason it was doing all of this. 

“Aramis?” Athos whispered, frowning at way he looked away from him. “What is it? What did it say?”

“Nothing,” Aramis replied. “Nothing of any importance, at least.”

“You’re not being truthful, brother,” Porthos said gently. “Look, we know whatever it was, it would have been trying to hurt you with it. We understand that. But we need to know everything we can so we can fight this thing.”

“How exactly does knowing what a good whore it thinks I am help us at all?” Aramis shot back, hoping to deter them. 

“It doesn’t,” Porthos replied calmly. “But that isn’t what you’re hiding from us. You don’t care about that thing calling you names. You do care about Athos’ feelings, though. But brother, are his feelings worth his life? His soul? Because that’s what’s at stake here, for all of us.”

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. He gripped Athos’ hand tightly with both of his so that he couldn’t pull away. Taking a breath, he finally told them the last thing the demon had said to him. “It was mocking me, mocking my love for Athos. It said… said Athos was the reason it was here… was… was back. That if he hadn’t kept pushing for answers, it never would have come back.”

“Oh God,” Athos gasped. He tried to pull his hand back but Aramis tightened his grip even more and refused to let him. “This is my fault. D’Artagnan, your grandmother… my God. How many… how many others…”

“Athos, man, stop,” Porthos said sternly. “There’s nothing…”

“Wait!” Aramis snapped as the pieces all began to slide into place. Since d’Artagnan had been taken, they had been virtually inundated with death. Taken on their own, each had a reasonable explanation, but when taken as a whole, when looked at together, they formed an unfathomable chain of coincidences.

“What is it?” Porthos asked warily. He didn’t like the look in Aramis’ eyes right now, it spoke of realization and certainty and no small amount of dawning horror.

“They were not accidents,” Aramis said. 

“Come again?” Porthos frowned.

“The first… the first was Samara, I think,” he began, licking his lips nervously. “Then Stefan. Now my grandmother, though she does not fit with the pattern.”

“The pattern?” Athos asked. He felt sick at the thought of being responsible for all of this. If he had only left well enough alone, none of this would have happened. 

“Anyone who helped us,” Aramis said. “First Samara. It killed her when she started to get close. Then Stefan. It killed him before he could do more than give us a partial list of references. My grandmother, she wasn’t helping us, though. I don’t know why it would target her.”

“To hurt you,” Athos suggested. “It was right after the attack in the alley. You were already so vulnerable. It would have been yet one more blow. I believe it thought to break you and to ensure you had no one to turn to save the two of us.”

“So you… you think I’m right?” Aramis asked.

“Yes,” Athos nodded. “And I believe there is one more death to be laid at the demon’s feet.”

“Who?” Porthos asked.

“The private detective I had searching for d’Artagnan. He disappeared. His body was found a few days ago. Well, parts of it were at least. I believe he might have actually been the first of the demon’s victims.”

“So what do we do?” Aramis asked, shaken. 

“Nothing,” Porthos said. At his incredulous look he tried to explain. “What can we do? Turn the kid in for murder knowing it wasn’t his doing? If they didn’t lock us up as accomplices, they’d lock us up for being nuts. There’s nothing we can do for the dead, Aramis. We need to concentrate on the living and that means finding this thing and destroying it. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Aramis said, though he did so reluctantly. He could not help but think of the lives cut short. Of all the good Samara and Stefan could have done, all the people they could have helped if only they had never crossed paths with him.

“I am so sorry, love. This is my fault, not yours,” Athos said. “I am the one that kept digging. I am the one that had to have answers. I do not know how you will ever forgive me…”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Aramis told him. “You didn’t know. If you’d even suspected any of this was a possibility you would never have continued. This isn’t your fault, Athos. I don’t care what some lying demon from hell says.”

“I love you so much,” Athos whispered as he pulled Aramis into his arms. “To know this pain is all because of me. To know that thing got its hands on you because of me…”

“Stop,” Aramis whispered, his voice strained. “It’s not your fault. Please. I need you strong right now, not blaming yourself. It’s just another wedge this thing is trying to drive between us and we can’t afford that.”

“Listen to him, Athos. We can’t afford to let it get between us. We can’t afford to let it make us doubt, not each other and not ourselves. We have to be strong, brother. D’Artagnan’s depending on us.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update this. I have definitely NOT abandoned it, I promise. 
> 
> Thanks to Snow_Glory for all of the help on this and for getting me back into my Hearts groove.

The funeral for Maria Herblay was a strained affair. When Aramis had arrived with Athos and Porthos, Nala had stormed toward them. Only Benito’s timely intervention had stopped her. Celeste had joined his cousins and a few harsh words from her had ensured that Nala would hold her tongue long enough for their grandmother to be laid to rest. 

Aramis did his best to ignore the two men in suits sitting in the back of the church as the service began. He recognized them as the detectives investigating his grandmother’s murder. While he should have found that reassuring, the fact that they thought him responsible made that somewhat difficult. On top of that, it wasn’t like the truth would be of any help. D’Artagnan may have physically been present for the murder but he was not the one responsible for it. Aramis did not think the police would see it that way, though. 

“I should sue them for harassment,” Athos snarled under his breath. 

“No,” Aramis said, taking Athos’ hand and squeezing it. “They are simply doing their jobs.”

“They are harassing you at your grandmother’s funeral,” Athos countered. 

“Athos is right,” Porthos agreed. “They don’t have to be so blatant about it. They’re just trying to rattle us. See how we react.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aramis told them both, pitching his voice low. “Let them suspect us. Better us than d’Artagnan.”

They insisted on seeing Celeste back to her apartment afterwards. Nala had wanted her to come back home with her and Benito but Aramis had not thought it wise and Celeste had agreed with him. In truth, Celeste didn’t ever want to set foot in that house again. Athos had told her to simply let him know when she wanted the rest of her things from the house and he would arrange for it.

Back at the loft, Athos sat down on the couch beside Aramis and pulled him close. “How are you holding up?” 

“I have been better,” Aramis replied then sighed. “I had always hoped... I knew she hated me...”

“She never hated you,” Athos told him. “She might have been angry with your choices but she loved you. She wouldn’t have been so angry if she didn’t.”

“Do you think it was quick?” Aramis asked, his voice suddenly small. It was one of the things he tried not to think about, how scared she must have been. Knowing his grandmother, though, she didn’t go down without a fight.

“Don’t,” Porthos said as he came over and handed both men a glass of bourbon. “Don’t even go there. Some things you don’t want to know.”

That night, Aramis was understandably subdued as he and Athos prepared for bed. He had been operating on auto-pilot the last few days. The death of his grandmother had taken precedence over everything else, including his most recent run-in with the demon. Now that she had been laid to rest, everything that he had been pushing to the back of his mind for days now came crashing back in on him at once.

“Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me,” Athos said as he climbed into bed and waited for Aramis to join him. His lover was taking an inordinate amount of time getting undressed - a sure sign that something was on his mind. 

“It’s nothing,” Aramis said as he tried to shake himself out of his momentary funk long enough to finish preparing for bed. He caught sight of Athos’ face and felt his stomach knot at the sight of his frown. 

“You do not need to lie,” Athos said carefully. “Or make out your pain to be something less than what it is. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. I only wanted you to know that I was here for you.”

Aramis didn’t reply. Instead, he concentrated on stripping down to his boxers so he could join Athos in their bed. He thought about putting on some sweats but steadfastly refused. There was enough of a distance between him and his lover as it was thanks to this demon. He was not going to make it worse.

“I’m sorry,” Aramis said once he was lying next to Athos. “I know you’re here for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Athos scooted closer and pulled Aramis against him so that his head was pillowed on his chest. He wrapped an arm around him, holding him loosely. “Do you want to try to go to sleep?”

“I’m not sure I can,” Aramis admitted tiredly.

“Is there anything I can do?” Athos asked. He hated this. He hated the exhaustion he could hear in his lover’s voice yet was powerless to do anything about. He wasn’t even sure if Aramis was completely comfortable with him holding him right now but he was not pulling away so he would take what he could get.

“As always, you are doing it,” Aramis replied. 

“I wish I could do more. I hate seeing you like this.”

“It’s alright, Athos. Everything is catching up to me, that’s all. I have had one thing or another to distract me from my more personal troubles these last few days. Now that I no longer have that...”

“Do you... I mean... Is this okay?” Athos asked suddenly worried he was pressuring his lover.

Aramis raised his head from Athos’ shoulder and looked down into his lover’s eyes. He saw the mounting concern there and smiled sadly. “This is the only thing keeping me sane right now. Please don’t pull away from me. I need you.”

“I’m here,” Athos said as he pulled Aramis back down against him and hugged him tight mindful of his still sore shoulder. They stayed like that, talking softly of anything that came to mind that had nothing to do with the demon or its latest attack on Aramis. When Aramis finally drifted off to sleep, Athos lay awake continuing to hold him. As sleep started to drag him down he knew things were coming to a head. Something was going to have to give. And soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By unspoken agreement, the three men dove back into their research. Aramis was determined to find a way restore their friend. He knew in his heart that d’Artagnan was not yet lost to them. But he had a feeling they were running out of time. 

It was several days later before he finally hit on something that wasn’t simply the same scant information they did have presented in a new way. The demon itself had given him the clue in the alley. He had already discovered that something from Athos’ past bound all of the demon’s previous victims together. Before now, the demon had visited Athos’ family once every five generations, taking possession of the mother and murdering the rest of the family save for the eldest son. 

The curse, for lack of a better name for it, was handed down on Athos’ mother’s side of the family. When the time came round, it started with the survivor from the previous attack and followed his bloodline for five generations then taking the eldest daughter as its next host. Five generations was a long time, however, and times changed. Aramis had to wonder if Athos had not gone looking for this thing, would the curse have simply died out with him since he would have had no children to pass it on to? He shoved that thought away roughly. What was done, was done. They did not have time to wallow in guilt. They needed to focus their energies on finding a way to destroy this thing before d’Artagnan was lost to them forever.

Whatever it was that tied the demon to Athos and his family, blood was apparently the key. That knowledge was good and bad at the same time. Knowing what bound the thing, what might have been used to summon it forth to begin with all those years ago could prove useful. From what Aramis had learned, entities such as this were often vulnerable in some way to that which bound it and allowed it to roam freely within our realm. On the other hand, blood magic was old. Old and powerful. They would need something equally powerful to fight it.

“How’s the research coming along?” Porthos asked as he sat down at the kitchen table across from Aramis. After his grandmother’s funeral, Aramis had thrown himself back into their search for the demon, determined not to lose anyone else because of it. 

“Productively,” Aramis replied. He glanced toward the bedroom doorway but saw no sign of Athos yet. His lover had been up late last night trying to get a lead on where d’Artagnan might be and was not yet up.

Porthos saw him look toward his and Athos’ room and cocked an eyebrow. “What’s up?” 

With one more quick glance toward the bedroom, Aramis brought him up to date. “It has to do with blood. I am almost certain blood was used to summon it and that is what it is using to maintain its presence here.”

“Alright,” Porthos said. “What else?”

“We already knew it was following his bloodline, specifically on his mother’s side. To be exact, every five generations, it would take possession of the mother and slaughter the family, leaving only the eldest son alive. Five generations later, it would come back following the surviving son’s bloodline to its new host.”

Porthos opened his mouth to reply then stopped. There was no point in saying what they both knew to be true. Then again, maybe they only thought they knew it. “You realize there’s nothing to say you two wouldn’t have had kids of your own,” Porthos said softly. “I mean, yeah it follows the mother’s bloodline but these things are tricky. If there’s any wiggle room at all, they’ll take it.”

“I know,” Aramis replied gratefully. “And you’re right. There’s nothing to say Athos wouldn’t have ended up having children at some point. The point is moot regardless. It is here now and we must deal with it.”

“Agreed,” Porthos said. “So if blood’s what normally binds the thing, how’s it manifesting for so long now? D’Artagnan’s no kin to Athos.”

“No, he isn’t,” Aramis agreed. “And therein lies the problem. When the demon was in the cat, it fed off of it, and then me, to sustain itself. I believe it is doing the same to d’Artagnan.”

“But it killed the cat,” Porthos blurted out. As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to take them back. Aramis had visibly flinched, his skin going a sickly ashen color. 

“Yes,” Aramis swallowed, his voice strained. “And if we do not act soon, d’Artagnan will suffer the same fate. He is not of Athos’ blood. He cannot sustain the demon as one of his lineage could. It is slowly draining the life from him. We have to find a way to stop it.”

“We will,” Porthos told him. He was about to say more when Athos came slowly shuffling out of the bedroom. While he didn’t like the idea of keeping things from each other, Athos had enough to deal with as it was without adding yet more guilt. Porthos would let Aramis decide how much of this to go back over with him.

“So, what did I miss?” Athos asked, getting right to the point once he had a cup of coffee in front of him. Aramis glanced at Porthos then slowly brought him up to date about his fears for d’Artagnan. He explained that it was because the young man was not a blood relation of Athos’ but went no further than that. Thankfully, Athos did not press the issue. 

It was while they were once again deep in the midst of research about the demon that Porthos received a call from Constance. In all of the excitement, they had forgotten about asking around for someone to turn Athos’ rosary into talismans. Constance, however, had not and had even found someone she thought could help them. 

Constance arranged for her and Porthos to meet with the couple later that day. Hopefully they would be able to help them. Aramis wanted to get those talismans created. He knew Athos wasn’t overly thrilled with the idea but if it could provide him and Porthos even a fraction of the protection it had him then it would be worth it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting out on the balcony, Aramis thought over everything he had discovered. A great deal of it was conjecture with hardly any verifiable fact. Given the nature of his research he was not surprised. Even without anything to truly back up his opinion, he knew he was right. 

That was where the problem lay. 

He was right. And there was only one course of action they could take. Yet he knew without a doubt that Athos would never let him go through with it. Neither would Porthos. But if they did not do something, d’Artagnan was going to die, sucked dry by a demon they were powerless to stop. 

He was not going to allow that to happen. He was not going to stand by and watch Athos bury another little brother. He would simply have to trust in God and his friends. If nothing else, it would buy them more time. He was strong and fit where d’Artagnan was growing weaker by the day. As it was, Aramis did not know if he was still strong enough to endure them trying to forcibly remove the demon from him. That was yet one more reason he needed to do this and the sooner the better. 

Picking up the notepad he had set down next to him, Aramis began writing his lover a letter. He sincerely hoped it was not the last thing he ever got to say to him but just in case it was, he planned to make it count. He only hoped Athos could forgive him for what he was about to do.

That night, Aramis took his lover by the hand and led him to their room. He closed the door securely behind them, smiling softly at Athos. He felt some of his nerves returning but pushed past them. This might very well be the last time they ever got to have this. He was not going to let fear and bad memories take this from them.

“Aramis?” Athos asked, unsure what it was his lover had in mind. They had been taking things slowly, once more attempting to rebuild what the demon had done its best to lay waste to, and he did not want to push too far.

“I love you,” Aramis told him. “So very much. You have done so much for me, giving me more than I ever thought possible. I will love you with my dying breath. I just... I just want you to know that.”

“I do know that,” Athos said. “And it’s no different for me. But what brought this on?”

“Nothing,” Aramis shook his head. “I just... I need you to know how much you mean to me. I need you to know that this, all of this, has been worth it.” 

“Aramis...”

“Can we make love?” Aramis asked suddenly. He was surprised at how much he genuinely wanted that. He wanted to make love with Athos, wanted to give himself to this man once more. He had no idea what the coming days might bring but for tonight they had this.

“Anything,” Athos told him. He meant it, too. Whatever Aramis wanted he was only too happy to give. He was a bit concerned that his lover was pushing himself too hard but he didn’t say anything. Something had obviously prompted this whether Aramis was aware of it or not. If this was what his lover needed from him then Athos would gladly give it to him.

They took it in turns undressing each other piece by piece. Athos was encouraged when he saw the evidence of Aramis’ own arousal. It was not quite as insistent as his but it was there and that was enough. Once they were naked, they laid down together side by side on the bed. Aramis moved up over top of Athos and kissed him, pressing him down into the mattress. He felt Athos’ erection brush against his own and gasped into his mouth as they kissed. 

“Want you,” Aramis moaned as he broke away from Athos, panting.

“Have me,” Athos told him. He meant what he said. He was Aramis’ for the taking in whatever manner his lover wished.

“I want to feel you inside of me again,” Aramis said, blushing hotly at being so bold. 

“Are you sure?” Athos asked, going still. He would not have thought his lover ready for that just yet.

“I’m sure,” Aramis told him. “I want you. I want to feel you making love to me. Can we do that?”

Athos sucked in a breath at the picture Aramis’ words painted. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we can do that. We can do anything you want to, Sweetheart.”

They didn’t waste time after that. Aramis felt like he was burning up and only Athos could save him. He was the one to reach over and take the lube from the nightstand and press it into Athos’ hand. His dark eyes were blown wide in a combination of lust and desperation. He needed Athos and he needed him now.

“Easy, Sweetheart,” Athos tried to soothe him as he rolled them over so that Aramis was on his back looking up at him. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“Please, Athos,” Aramis begged. “I want to feel you again.”

“Whatever you need,” Athos replied as he gave him a last kiss then sat back between his spread thighs. Taking up the lube, he warmed some on his fingers then pushed his leg back baring him. Carefully, he pressed his slick fingers against Aramis’ hole. There was a second of resistance then his finger was breaching him and sliding inside.

“Ohhh,” Aramis moaned at the feel of Athos’ finger slowly filling him. It was strange yet oddly familiar at the same time. Only the fact that it was Athos allowed him to relax his body enough to accept the penetration at all. Yet it was the very fact that it was Athos that made it more than simply enduring on his part. That it was Athos allowed him to give himself over to the act and actually enjoy it.

“You feel so good,” Athos said as he began to slowly stretch him on his fingers. “So hot.” He could see the joy on Aramis’ face as he worked him open and it made his own cock ache between his legs. 

“Want you,” Aramis managed, his voice already wrecked. “Please, Athos. Make love to me.”

“Alright,” Athos said unable to hold out any longer in the face of Aramis’ need. He slicked his cock then pushed his lover’s thighs apart, spreading him wide. Holding himself at the base, he pressed the head of his slick cock against Aramis’ stretched hole and began to press forward.

“Aahhh,” Aramis cried out as Athos began to breech him. He hooked his hands under his knees and pulled them back, baring himself as widely as he could. He could feel Athos slowly inching inside of him, and he had to remind himself to breathe through the stretch.

“So good,” Athos moaned into the side of Aramis’ neck as he sank into him all the way. He stopped then, giving his lover a chance to adjust. Sooner than he would have thought, he felt Aramis’ body relax around him then his lover was whispering in his ear urging him on.

Athos began to move then, fucking into his lover as Aramis moaned and writhed beneath him. As he got close, he snaked a hand between them and took his lover’s flushed cock in hand. He began to stroke him in time to his thrusts, making Aramis moan and shake even harder as their climax neared. 

“Going to come,” Aramis panted. “Athos... I’m going to come.”

“Come for me,” Athos said as he pounded into his lover. A few seconds later, Aramis went still beneath him then gasped and began to come. Athos felt his lover’s body clamp down on him and it was enough to send him over the edge as well. With a shout, he thrust forward hard and came, burying his face in the side of his lover’s neck as he did so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Biding his time, Aramis waited until the early hours of the morning when Athos and Porthos were both still sound asleep. He left the notes for both men, along with one for d’Artagnan and the rosary, on the kitchen table and quietly slipped out of the loft. He took a cab to the alley next to the bar where the demon had attacked him then got out and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I must say, I was not expecting this,” the demon said as it approached the mouth of the alley from across the street.

“Give me your word you will let him go unharmed,” Aramis said getting right to the point.

“And if I don’t?” 

“Then our deal is off.” Aramis turned making his intent to walk away clear. 

“Alright, Priest,” the demon laughed. “I give you my word. I’ll let the boy go unharmed. Good enough?”

“Good enough,” Aramis agreed. He took a deep breath and said a quick good-bye to Athos in his mind, praying this was not a mistake. Stepping forward, he held out his hand to the thing masquerading as his friend. A second later he was jerked into a tight embrace. A blinding light flashed behind his eyes and agony lanced across his skull as the world tilted sickeningly. 

Within the blink of an eye it was over.


	10. Chapter 10

Athos didn’t know what had woken him at first. When he heard his phone start to ring again he rolled toward it with a groan. Groping along the top of the nightstand, he finally held it up and squinted. When he saw Aramis’ name flashing across his screen he nearly dropped the thing. He quickly glanced around the room as if hoping this was all some elaborate prank by the other man but it was clear that Aramis was not there and had not been for some time judging by the coldness of his side of the bed. The phone started to ring again and Athos nearly fumbled it before managing to finally press talk. 

“Aramis? Where are you? What’s going on?” Athos asked before Aramis could even speak.

“Are you worried?” Aramis purred into the other end of the line. The demon could picture him so easily in its mind. 

“What?” Athos said, shaking his head. “Aramis, what’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m right outside,” Aramis replied with a grin. “Though I won’t be for long. I just wanted to drop off a late Christmas present for you. It’s on the front steps. You might want to hurry. It’s past its Use-By date already.” 

Aramis cut the connection before Athos could ask anything else. He propped an unresponsive d’Artagnan up against the railing on the outer steps then moved back across the way to watch. He couldn’t risk moving too far yet until he knew they were coming for the boy. It had given its word, after all. 

Athos knew that something was very wrong. Grabbing his jeans off the floor, he raced to Porthos’ room. He threw open the door just as Porthos was sitting up. “Get dressed,” he said as he quickly donned his own pants.

“What is it?” Porthos asked as he too threw on his clothes.

“Aramis called,” Athos began.

“Called? Why would he call?”

“Because he’s not here,” Athos said. “I don’t know. He called and... something’s not right. He said he left a present for me on the front steps but that I needed to hurry. He said it was... was past its Use-By date.”

Porthos’ eyes widened at Athos’ implications. He felt his stomach twist painfully at both the thought of something happening to Aramis and whatever it was that could be waiting for them on the steps.

“Let’s go,” Porthos said as he grabbed his jacket and threw Athos his own. 

The pair rushed outside only to come to a skidding halt at the sight that greeted them. There sitting on the front steps of their building was what looked to be a young man. He was bundled up in a thick jacket with his back to them and he was leaning heavily against the railing. He didn’t appear to notice their arrival, didn’t move or react in any way and that only made the icy fear within them ten times worse.

“No, please,” Porthos whispered as he approached the young man. Crouching down beside him, he carefully pushed the hood away from the person’s face. The sight of d’Artagnan’s once-vibrant face now gaunt and sallow in the too big jacket nearly broke his heart. He let out a soft curse then turned to look at Athos.

“Is he still alive?” Athos forced himself to ask as he came over next to Porthos. He cringed at the sight of the young man and Aramis’ words came back to him unbidden. Past his Use-By date indeed. This, Athos knew, was the demon’s doing. But if this was the demon’s work then that meant... 

“Yes,” Porthos said, surprised by the strength of the pulse under his fingertips. Still, sitting out in the freezing cold wasn’t going to help the boy any. “We need to get him inside, though. Can you help me?”

“Of course,” Athos said, eager for the distraction. Anything that kept the harsh reality away for even a few seconds was worth it. 

They managed to get d’Artagnan up and inside together. Once inside the building, Porthos lifted him into his arms and carried him. It was easier than trying to get the kid to help them. His pulse might be strong but it was clear he had been through hell. Porthos couldn’t even say for sure if he understood where he was and who he was with. 

“Should we call an ambulance?” Athos asked once they had d’Artagnan installed on the couch. They had stripped him out of his coat and, after using a liberal application of Holy Water to ensure that this was d’Artagnan and not the demon in disguise, wrapped him in a thick quilt. 

“I want to,” Porthos said as he came into the room with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. He was hoping it might bring d’Artagnan around a little bit. If not, they might have no choice but to take him to the hospital.

“But?” Athos pressed.

“But we got no idea what he’s liable to say,” Porthos replied. “If he comes out of this and starts raving about demons and crap he’ll end up in the psych ward.”

“And if he starts raving about Aramis’ grandmother he could end up someplace far worse,” Athos added, understanding Porthos’ hesitancy now. 

“If he doesn’t start coming around soon we may not have much choice. We’re not equipped to handle something like this. Do you think Aramis might know anyone...? What?” Porthos had seen Athos’ flinch at the mention of his lover and frowned darkly. “Where the hell is he, anyway?”

“How do you think we got d’Artagnan back?” Athos replied, his voice breaking as he fought to hold his tears at bay.

“What! No, Athos, that can’t be...”

“Do you have some other explanation?” Athos asked wearily. “It was Aramis who called me to tell me where he was. Even over the phone I knew something was... was off. I don’t know what exactly he has done but I can guess. The demon would not have given up its prize easily.”

“We’ll get him back, Athos,” Porthos told him, trying to show as much certainty as he could. 

“Will we?” Athos replied. 

“Yes,” Porthos said firmly.

“Really? Because we did such a stellar job of getting d’Artagnan back, right?” Athos forced himself to stop and take a breath. This was not Porthos’ fault and he had no right to take his anger out on the man. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Porthos told him. “Just don’t give up on him, brother. We will get him back. We’ll find a way.”

“I hope you are right, Porthos, because I have no desire to live without him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They managed to bring d’Artagnan around a bit once they got him warmed up. He wasn’t entirely coherent but he realized that he was back home with them and that he was safe. The pure relief in the boy’s eyes had nearly done Porthos in and he had helped him drink the rest of the hot chocolate before tucking him in on the couch to rest.

He and Athos moved to the kitchen table then, wanting to be close but not wanting their conversation to keep the boy awake. It was then that they noticed Aramis’ rosary and the three neatly labeled envelopes. 

“Still think I am wrong?” Athos asked as he reached out an unsteady hand to pick up the one addressed to him. 

“I can’t believe he did this,” Porthos shook his head as he picked up his own envelope. “I know we were running out of time but...”

“He loves him,” Athos said, trying to explain as much for his own sake as Porthos’. “A great deal more than he realizes, but we both already knew that. If he thought that time was growing short, that there was a chance we might... might lose him before we could restore him... then he would not have hesitated.”

“He’s not the only one that loves that kid,” Porthos growled, the enormity of the situation threatening to swamp him. “I could have taken his place just as easily.”

“Could you?” Athos asked. He saw Porthos’ head jerk up, hurt coloring his eyes and rushed on. “I was not questioning your willingness, brother. Only the demon’s to take you if it thought it could get its hands on him instead.”

“Fair enough,” Porthos agreed reluctantly. “But he still should have talked to us first.”

“And said what? That he planned on trading himself to get d’Artagnan back?” Athos glanced toward the couch making sure d’Artagnan still appeared to be sleeping. “He already saw himself as this thing’s whore. He would have seen this as him willingly inviting it to use him again. How was he supposed to look us in the eye and tell us that? More importantly, how were we supposed to let him?”

Porthos closed his eyes with a sigh then shook his head. Athos was right. If he had said anything they would have stopped him and in doing so would have quite possibly sealed d’Artagnan’s fate. He still didn’t think it should have been Aramis to make the sacrifice, though. 

“You gonna read it?” Porthos asked gesturing toward the letter in Athos’ hands after a few minutes.

“Yes, but... alone, I think. I have no illusions that my composure will withstand whatever is in here.”

“We’ll get him back, Athos. I promise, we’ll get him back.”

Athos started to take the letter into their bedroom then changed his mind and took it down to Aramis’ gym instead. This place was wholly Aramis’ and he found he wanted to be surrounded by as much of his lover as he could. He had grabbed the bottle of bourbon on the way down and now sat in the middle of the floor, Aramis’ letter spread out before him.

_My Dearest Athos,_

_Please forgive me for what I am about to do. If there was any other way I would not do this but d’Artagnan’s time is almost up and I must do something. It has agreed to a trade, him for me. I am so sorry, my love. I never dreamt it would come to this. I know you and Porthos will do everything in your power to get me back and destroy this creature once and for all. I have faith in you._

_I know there is a chance this will not end well, not for me. It is because of this that I need you to know some things. First, meeting you has been the best thing to ever happen to me. No matter how this ends, it was worth it just to be your friend. Ever since the day we met, you have made my life fuller. You have enriched it in ways I was not even aware of. I love you so much, Athos. I will carry your love with me in my heart, safe and protected, so that no matter where I am you are with me._

_If the worst should happen, my love, then do not give in to despair. I realize how hypocritical that is coming from me for if I lost you I would not want to go on either, but remember, there are others who still need you._

_I have to go now. Just know that even in these dark hours your love remains alive in me and it will keep me warm and safe until we can be together once more._

_Eternally,  
Aramis._

Athos had lost count of the number of times he had read the letter. He had managed to get half way through the bottle of bourbon still sitting on the floor of the gym when Porthos came looking for him.

Porthos had given Athos an hour and a half and then went to check on him. D’Artagnan had woken up on the couch and had grown anxious when Porthos had been the only one there with him. He was glad to see that the kid at least remembered him and Athos getting him inside. He hadn’t asked about Aramis yet and Porthos wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. He had a feeling that d’Artagnan had not put it all together yet and figured out what Aramis’ absence truly meant.

Seeing Athos sprawled out on the gym floor more than a little drunk made Porthos ache inside. He had no idea what his letter said but if it was even half as bad as his own then it was a miracle Athos wasn’t sobbing into his bourbon. As it was, Porthos wanted to find this demon and hurt it, not just send it back to Hell but _hurt_ it.

Without a word, he went to his brother and knelt down beside him. He took Aramis’ letter and carefully tucked it back inside the envelope then slid it into his back pocket. Putting the cap back on the bourbon, he took it in one hand then stood up. Looking down at Athos, it was clear the man didn’t even realize he was there. He ran his free hand through his hair and sighed. 

Adjusting his grip on the bottle so as not to drop it, he bent down and scooped the man up off the floor much the same way he had done to d’Artagnan earlier. He felt Athos go stiff and start to protest and he tightened his hold, whispering softly to him. Athos calmed at once at the sound of his voice and Porthos was able to get him back upstairs without too much fuss.

d’Artagnan sat up in alarm when Porthos walked back in carrying Athos. He quickly made room for him on the couch, going so far as to take the blanket he had been wrapped in and put it around Athos’ shoulders. He started to ask Porthos what was wrong but something held him back and he settled for pulling Athos into his arms and holding him. 

It didn’t take long for Athos to fall into an alcohol fueled sleep. Porthos tried to take him into his room then but d’Artagnan had refused to let go of him. With Athos sleeping safely in his arms, d’Artagnan took a moment to try to clear his head. Knowing he was not likely to get a better chance, he decided to address the elephant in the room.

“Where’s Aramis?” D’Artagnan asked, pitching his voice low so as not to wake Athos.

Porthos sighed. He had known this was coming. The kid kept looking around the loft as if waiting for Aramis to pop out of some corner. The longer he didn’t the more heavy the silence grew. 

“We don’t know,” he said truthfully. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” D’Artagnan pressed. “How did you get me back?”

“What’s the last thing you remember, kid?” Porthos asked gently. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to have to tell d’Artagnan that Aramis traded himself to the demon to get him back. He wasn’t sure the kid could take it after everything.

“I... I’m not sure. Ah, I remember fireworks, I think,” d’Artagnan replied, struggling to recall anything prior to finding himself on their front steps, Athos and Porthos on either side of him.

“That would have been for New Year’s,” Porthos nodded. “Do you remember anything else? Anything about that or maybe afterwards?”

“Not... not really. I’ve been trying. It’s all such a blur, like looking through water or something. What’s this got to do with Aramis? Where is he? What’s happened?”

“He left a note for you,” Porthos finally said, hoping that Aramis had found some way in his letter to break the news to the kid. “I’ll get it.”

Porthos got the note and carried it back to d’Artagnan on the couch. He set it on the coffee table then reached for Athos. “Let me put him to bed for a little while. Give you some privacy to read that. If you need us, we won’t be far.”

D’Artagnan waited until Porthos had carried Athos into his bedroom. He was surprised when he didn’t come back out then his attention was once again drawn to the envelope Porthos had set on the coffee table. Picking it up, he opened it and began to read.

_d’Artagnan,_

_If you are reading this then my deal with the demon was successful. I know you will think I was wrong for doing so but you were out of time, my dear friend. I had to do something. Whatever happens, please do not blame yourself. Not for any of it. The demon is the only one to blame for all of this. Remember that._

_Oh d’Artagnan, even though I am not there to celebrate your return to us, I am so glad that you are back. Just knowing that you are safe will be a balm to my soul in the days to come. And I know the coming days will be a trial for you as much as the rest of us. Please know that if there was any way I could be there with you, I would._

_Now, I must ask a favor of you. Athos is not likely to take my actions well. Do not let him grow despondent. Give him something to focus on, someone to help. He sees in you the little brother that was taken from him so long ago. Be that brother for him now. Give him a reason to go on until we can be together again._

_I have to go now, my friend. You will get past this. Athos and Porthos will help you, you just have to let them. Know that in my heart I never stopped being your friend and I never stopped loving you._

_Aramis._

D’Artagnan stared down at the paper in his hands. He could not believe that Aramis had done this, that he had traded himself for him. Didn’t he realize what that monster would do to him? Didn’t he realize how badly it would hurt him?

D’Artagnan didn’t realize he had started to cry until Porthos’ hands were gently pulling the letter away from him. He felt the couch shift and then Athos’ arms were around him, pulling him against his chest. 

“It’s gonna be okay, kid,” Porthos said as he sat down on the other side of d’Artagnan pushing him even further into Athos’ arms. 

“He let... he let...”

“Shhh. It’s alright,” Athos soothed, tightening his arms. “He... he had to get you back. He...”

“But we’ve lost him!” d’Artagnan wailed.

“Only for now,” Athos said with much more certainty than he actually felt. “We will get him back. We are not losing him to this demon. We will find a way to get him back.”

“How?” D’Artagnan asked desperately.

“I don’t know,” Athos replied honestly. “But he never once gave up on you. We will not give up on him. Aramis is a fighter. He is stronger than this demon realizes. If all he has endured has not managed to break him then this demon will not do so now.”

“I... I hurt him, didn’t I?” D’Artagnan asked. He didn’t remember much of his time as the demon’s host. He had been frustrated by that at first but now he had to wonder if he shouldn’t be glad for the mercy, small though it was. 

“No,” Athos told him. “The demon hurt him. That it did so while forcing you to be its host is... unfortunate, but it is no fault of yours. Aramis did not hold you at fault for what was done to him, you would be wise to follow his example.”

“There are a couple of things we need to talk about, kid,” Porthos said reluctantly. He didn’t want to do this, especially now, but he didn’t know how closely they were being watched.

“Porthos?” Athos frowned.

“Some people were killed,” Porthos began slowly. “We’re not positive, but we think the demon’s responsible.”

“Who?” D’Artagnan asked, suddenly afraid. 

“A woman named Samara for one. She was helping us get information on the demon. A P.I. Athos hired for another,” Porthos began. He hesitated then, not wanting to hurt the boy when he was already in so much pain. Still, he needed to know, preferably before the police pulled him in for questioning.

“You think I...”

“The demon,” Athos reiterated. “It was not you.”

“It was my body,” d’Artagnan argued weakly.

“Perhaps,” Athos conceded, “but it was not your heart. You had no control. You were not responsible.”

“What else?” D’Artagnan asked suddenly. He could tell there was more they weren’t telling him. Whatever it was, he needed to know.

“Father Stefan is dead as well,” Athos said. “They ruled it a heart attack but the timing is rather suspect. The last... the last... was Aramis’ grandmother. In truth, we didn’t put the pieces together until her murder.”

D’Artagnan suddenly felt hot all over. His vision had narrowed and his breathing began to come faster and faster. He had killed Aramis’ grandmother. My God, what else had he done? He felt tears well up in his eyes again and looked back and forth between Athos and Porthos frantically. 

“Hey kid, calm down,” Porthos said gently. “Aramis knows it wasn’t really you. The demon’s the only one to blame here.”

“Oh God,” d’Artagnan gasped. “I killed his grandmother. Oh God.”

“D’Artagnan, stop this,” Athos said firmly. “You were not responsible for her death. We all know this.”

“Yeah,” Porthos said, though his voice held little of the conviction that Athos’ had.

“Porthos?” D’Artagnan called.

“We know you didn’t do it, but the police might not be so easily convinced,” Porthos said.

“The police?”

“While the other deaths could be written off as accidents or such, Aramis’ grandmother was definitely murdered and quite violently at that. The police seem to believe we, Porthos and I, might have had something to do with it.”

“Listen kid,” Porthos said once they had given him a brief rundown of their meeting with the police. “If they ask you anything, you weren’t here. You and Aramis had that fight and you took off to clear your head. You just got back today. We’ll vouch for you and so will your family. I doubt they’ll ask, but if they do you tell them you were staying at a hotel and you paid in cash because you didn’t want Athos to be able to track you down. If they get too pushy, Athos will sic his lawyer on them. Like I said, I don’t think it’ll come to that but they’re still fishing and with Aramis taking off they might hope to get you to slip and tell them something incriminating.”

Athos saw d’Artagnan start to argue and hugged him again. “There is nothing to be gained by admitting to something you did not do. The police are no threat to us. There is no evidence against us save for a single business card found at the scene. And since there are any number of ways that could have gotten there, they have nothing. I will not allow you to throw away everything Aramis has sacrificed for you out of misplaced guilt. Am I understood?”

D’Artagnan didn’t reply but he nodded weakly against Athos’ chest. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do. He still felt sick at the thought of hurting anyone, especially Father Stefan. Aramis’ grandmother, however, was the worst of all. She would have been a defenseless old woman and he had...

“Stop it,” Porthos said, nudging his shoulder. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Just know that we’re here for you, kid. Whatever you need.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

D’Artagnan wanted to wait a day before calling his parents. He wanted to see if he could remember anything else and he wanted to let what he had learned settle a bit first. He knew his parents were going to be glad that he was back but they were also going to want answers, answers that he did not have. He knew his parents would let it drop if he asked them to but he wanted to at least offer them some sort of explanation as to his whereabouts these last couple of months. 

Athos sat with him when he made the call. He actually had to pull the phone away from his ear when his mother screamed into it. He had spent the next hour assuring first her then his father then her again that he was alright. Near the end Athos had taken the phone from him and promised that he and Porthos would bring him by first thing in the morning, telling his mother that he was still tired from his journey and needed to get some rest. D’Artagnan knew she had not been happy with having to wait to see him but she had agreed quickly enough. 

“They’re going to ask questions when they get a look at me,” d’Artagnan said after finally hanging up the phone. He had lost a good twenty pounds or more and he looked like he’d been ill.

“In truth, it may work to our advantage,” Athos said.

“How?” D’Artagnan gaped.

“If you were sick, it’d explain why you didn’t call or come home sooner,” Porthos offered. “It’ll also make them less apt to press the issue.”

“Though it is likely to make them try to get you to move back home,” Athos said. “We would, of course, understand if that was what you wanted. After everything...”

“I want to stay here,” d’Artagnan said before Athos could finish. “If that’s still okay I mean.”

“Of course it is,” Athos said, shocked the young man would even ask such a thing.

“Told you before, kid, this is your home,” Porthos added. “We’re not going to kick you out of it now that we finally got you back.”

The visit with d’Artagnan’s parents was a poignant one for Athos. As expected, they had tried to convince their youngest son to return home at least for a little while. Athos and Porthos had not wanted to come inside but d’Artagnan had asked them to and they felt decidedly conspicuous when the topic of d’Artagnan’s living arrangements came up.

“Mom, I appreciate what you’re doing,” d’Artagnan told her gently. “But I don’t need a place to stay. My leaving like I did... that wasn’t Aramis’ fault. He never wanted me to go. He even... he tried his best to find me. He’s the whole reason I’m back now.” The last was said around an ever-growing lump in his throat and before he knew it, d’Artagnan was pulled forward into his mother’s strong arms. 

“We don’t know what’s going on,” d’Artagnan’s father began carefully, “but if you men are in trouble...”

“It’s nothing like that, Sir,” Porthos said quickly.

“What my husband is trying to say is that if you need help, we’re here for you. All of you.”

Back at the loft, the three men sat down together on the couch. The meeting with d’Artagnan’s parents had been draining on all of them. Thankfully, they had not asked where Aramis was so they had not been forced to lie to them. His absence, however, was like a gaping wound that they were slowly bleeding out from. 

“So what do we do now?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Tonight, we try to get some much needed rest,” Athos said. “Tomorrow, we get back to work researching this thing. Aramis was looking into its origin hoping to find a way to destroy it. We can start with that.”

“I need to call Constance,” Porthos said. “See if those folks are ready to do the rosary.”

“What rosary?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Aramis thinks his rosary is part of the reason he was protected. Because it was handed down on Athos’ mother’s side. Constance found some people that can take it and turn it into talismans for us,” Porthos explained.

“But won’t that destroy it?”

“Not according to them,” Porthos said. “I mean there’s a chance, yeah, but Aramis was willing to risk it.”

“He wanted us protected,” Athos added.

“Oh. Athos...”

“Will you be alright to sleep alone tonight?” Athos asked, cutting off whatever d’Artagnan had been about to say. He could tell by the boy’s face that whatever it was he did not want to hear. Not now.

“I... Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I shall retire for the night,” Athos said as he stood. “If you have need of me, I will leave the door ajar.”

“I wish there was something we could do for him,” d’Artagnan said after Athos had left them. 

“Me too, kid, but he’s not ready for that. He hasn’t even accepted the fact that Aramis is gone.”

“Aramis isn’t gone!” D’Artagnan spat angrily. He refused to believe that Aramis was lost to them. They were going to get him back!

“Hey easy,” Porthos said, holding his hands up placating. “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean he’s gone for good. But he’s gone for now and the sooner Athos accepts that the better off he’ll be.”

“I don’t know if anything could make this any better. Not for him. Aramis is the love of his life, Porthos.”

“I know and that’s why we’re going to get him back. We’re going to find this thing and send it back to Hell where it belongs. But it’s not going to happen tonight. Now come on, let’s try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Porthos had wanted to take d’Artagnan with him to meet with Constance, unsure about leaving him and Athos alone in the loft. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Athos to protect the boy with his life. It had more to do with the fact that d’Artagnan was the reason Aramis was now in the demon’s hands. Porthos didn’t think Athos needed the constant reminder right now. However, the simple fact remained that d’Artagnan was still too weak. While the damage the demon had done to him would heal, it would take some time. Until then, he would be weak and easily tired.

“We’ll be fine,” d’Artagnan told him. “If I get tired, I can always bring the laptop to the couch and work.”

“Alright, but call me if you need me,” Porthos told him. “And don’t overdo it.”

“He will be fine, Porthos,” Athos said. He had not missed the man’s concern, both for himself and for their young friend. In truth, he was equally worried about d’Artagnan. “I will keep an eye on him. I promise.”

“It’s not you,” d’Artagnan said once he and Athos were alone. 

“Not entirely, no,” Athos agreed. “He wishes to try to shield me from the reminder of Aramis’ absence but it is a useless endeavor. Every breath I take reminds me that he is not by my side as he should be.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t,” Athos snapped then caught himself. “I’m sorry. I am not angry with you, d’Artagnan. And as I said before, I do not blame you. Your being here does not increase my distress in some way. For what it’s worth, I am glad we got you back safe and whole.”

“I don’t know about whole,” d’Artagnan laughed weakly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Athos asked, his brow furrowing in concern. No matter how much pain he was in, he would never ignore that of his brothers.

“No, man. You’ve got enough to deal with. You don’t need my bullshit on top of it.”

“D’Artagnan, you are my friend. You are... well, I like to think you are the man Tommy might have been had the demon not cut his life short. If I can help you in some way, even if just by lending an ear, then I would do so and gladly.”

“It’s just... I know I did really... really terrible things. I just wish I could remember.”

“No, you don’t,” Athos said. “You don’t want to remember the things that monster made you do. I fervently pray that you never regain those memories. And, d’Artagnan, it was not you. It may have been your body, but we know you were fighting it as hard as you could.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, we do. We know that because we know you. The man you are could never have done the things that demon did while wearing the guise of you. I believe that... well, I believe it as strongly as I do that one day Aramis and I will be together again.”

When Porthos got back he found the pair together on the couch. D’Artagnan had his head in Athos’ lap, Athos’ fingers carding through his hair as he slept while Athos worked on his laptop off to the side. It was such an unexpected sight that Porthos stopped short for a minute and just watched the pair. 

“How did it go?” Athos asked keeping his voice low so as not to wake d’Artagnan.

“Good,” Porthos said snapping himself out of his momentary stupor. “I can pick them up tomorrow.”

“How many?”

“Four,” Porthos said. “I wanted... for when we get him back.”

“Thank you,” Athos said.

“He been asleep long?” Porthos asked changing the subject.

“About an hour or so. His stamina is not what it was. He will recover, though. We will make sure of it.” Athos saw the question in his brother’s eyes and set his laptop aside. “What it is?”

“Just didn’t expect to see you like this,” Porthos said, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. 

“I meant what I said, Porthos. He is not to blame for any of this. If anyone is to blame here, it’s me.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Porthos told him. 

“If not for my refusal to accept what had happened, the demon never would have returned,” Athos said. His voice had started to rise and he had to take a breath to calm himself.

“Until five generations down the line. Then your great-great-great grandson would be living through the same thing you did.”

“You are assuming the bloodline would not have ended with me,” Athos said. 

“Seriously? A young guy like you. Yeah, man, I think you would have had a family.”

“You are wrong,” Athos told him flatly. “Even had things between Aramis and I not changed, I was in love with my best friend. Deeply and irrevocably in love. I would never have married, never have fathered any children. As it was, I barely even dated and then only to keep Aramis’ superiors from giving him grief over our relationship.”

“Fair enough,” Porthos conceded. “But evil like this, it doesn’t give up easily. It would have found a way. Hell man, who’s to say it wouldn’t have backtracked and gone after some other relative.”

“Do you truly believe that or are you simply trying to assuage my guilt?”

“I’m not bullshitting you. These things are relentless. If it couldn’t continue on with your descendants it would have gone after someone else.”

“Listen to Porthos,” d’Artagnan said from Athos’ lap. He had come awake to the pair talking but had kept quiet. “It would not have been vanquished by something as mundane as a lack of children. It would simply have gone back and chosen again.”

“But at least you would have been spared this pain. Aramis, too,” Athos said. It was difficult for him to understand how they did not blame him for this. D’Artagnan, at the very least, should hold him responsible for all that the demon did to him, yet he did not.

“Life is pain, Athos,” d’Artagnan told him. “Sometimes that pain feels like it’s going to rip us apart but it’s all part of life. Even the scars.”

“I’m so sorry. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. If I had known...”

“Brother, we know that,” Porthos said. “You got nothing to apologize for. You didn’t cause this, the demon did and I am personally going to make it pay for what it’s done to my family.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day Porthos headed back out to pick up the talismans once more leaving d’Artagnan and Athos at the loft researching. As he made his way across the city, he couldn’t help but worry. This could one of two ways. Either they would gain talismans that would afford them at least some protection from the demon or they would end up destroying the only defense they had against the thing.

As he pulled away from the building, Porthos hesitated. For a moment, it had felt like there were eyes on him. The feeling was strong enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he looked up and down the street for any sign of who might be watching them. Telling himself it was probably just the cops keeping tabs on them, he kept going. At least with a couple of cops staking the place out he didn’t have to worry so much about leaving Athos and d’Artagnan alone. Not that he thought the cops would be any challenge for the demon but the thing wasn’t stupid. Having a few misfits going on about black-eyed demons was one thing. Having a couple of the city’s finest was something else altogether. It wouldn’t risk exposure on that level.

Stepping back into the darkness of the alley, the demon watched as Porthos drove away. Its eyes flashed as it stared up at the third floor balcony. Casting out with its senses, it could hear the two men moving about inside the loft. It sneered at the stab of longing its host felt at the mere sound of his lover’s voice. 

_“Do you truly think he’s waiting for you?” the demon taunted in its mind._

_“Athos would never betray me,” Aramis snapped. “He loves me.”_

_“Really? Are you sure? And what’s love got to do with it anyway?”_

_“Everything. Besides, d’Artagnan does not care for sex.”_

_“He cared for it when he was fucking you,” the demon jibed. It felt the Priest recoil in its mind and smiled. If this one thought himself a match for it, it would gladly teach him otherwise. Wanting to twist the knife, the demon began replaying its attack on Aramis in the alley. It felt him try to shrink from it, to hide from the memories, but it refused to allow him to. Instead, it pushed harder, recalling the pleasure it had felt and relishing its memories of the Priest’s pain and fear._

_“Stop,” Aramis gasped weakly, the horror of that night robbing him of all strength._

_“You’re so pathetic. Begging for mercy from nothing more than a few pictures in your mind. You sicken me. You belong on your knees, whore.”_

“What’s wrong?” D’Artagnan asked when Athos went over and checked the balcony door.

“Nothing,” Athos replied, shaking his head. “I felt a draft. I thought the door might be open.” Sitting side by side on the couch, they dove back into their respective work unaware of the dark-eyed man staring up from the street below.

It was late by the time Porthos finally made it home. He had wanted to stop by Constance’s to show her the talismans and thank her again for her help. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her out for coffee but he didn’t. When this mess was over with then he would. Until then, he wasn’t going to put a target on anyone else’s back.

“Well?” Athos asked before Porthos had even made it all the way inside. He had sent d’Artagnan off to bed a couple of hours ago but had not wanted to retire until Porthos was safely home. 

“I got ‘em,” he said. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a leather pouch then tossed it to Athos. 

“And we are sure these will work?” Athos asked.

“About as sure as we are with anything these days,” Porthos said. He hung up his jacket then went to the kitchen and grabbed two beers from the refrigerator. Handing one to Athos, he sat down next to him and took a long pull.

“And how was Constance?” Athos asked, grinning.

“Don’t man,” Porthos laughed. 

“You should ask her out.”

“Maybe. Once everything’s over and done with. Until then, I’ve got enough on my plate without adding anything else.”

“Fair enough,” Athos replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As his strength slowly returned, d’Artagnan threw himself headlong into his research. He had nearly broken down the first time he had read through Aramis’ notes and realized that the man had taken the time to list out his various thoughts and suspicions, as if he would not be there to relay them in person. 

Telling himself he had to be strong for Athos’ sake, he began weeding through the latest of Aramis’ research. He had dismissed some of it straight away, telling himself it was irrelevant. They knew, for instance, that Athos’ only brother was dead. For whatever reason though, the idea refused to leave him be. It was ridiculous. Athos didn’t have a brother. But then why had Aramis made mention of it? Why had he left his research into it where they were sure to find it? 

Aramis was many things but careless wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t one to waste time either. He would not have left those notes, would not have even been investigating such a thing in the first place, if there wasn’t at least the possibility that it was true. But if Athos did have a mystery brother then who was he? More importantly, how was he supposed to help them get Aramis back?

“How’s it going?” Porthos asked as he began opening cartons of Chinese food and setting them on the kitchen table. The kid had been engrossed in something all day, barely stopping long enough to eat the sandwich he had shoved in front of him around noon. He wanted to find Aramis just as bad as they did but burning himself out would help no one.

“Ah, I’m not sure,” d’Artagnan replied as he slumped in his chair. 

“Have you found something?” Athos asked, the edge of excitement in his voice clear.

“Maybe,” d’Artagnan hedged. “I think I might be onto something. I need a little more time.”

“Well, let us know if we can help,” Porthos said, his big hand coming to rest on Athos’ shoulder. 

“I will,” he said at once. “I just need to figure something out first. Then I’ll know if I’m running down another dead end or not.”

“Any luck tracking him down?” Porthos asked Athos, though from the dejected air about him he already knew the answer.

“No,” Athos sighed. “Though, in truth, that is probably a good thing. At least he is not leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.” He saw d’Artagnan flinch and wanted to kick himself. Leaning forward, he covered the young man’s hand with his own. “I am sorry. I did not mean for my words to come out like that.”

“It’s okay,” d’Artagnan said but there was no conviction in his voice and his skin had grown pale.

“What about you?” Athos asked, trying to change the subject.

“I think I’ve found a way to bind it,” Porthos said. “Maybe. The requirements get a bit esoteric in parts. It’s got something to do with what was used to summon it in the first place, I know that much.”

“How do we find that out?” Athos asked.

“Blood,” d’Artagnan replied making both men pause. “Aramis… in his notes. He said blood was used to summon it.”

“Well that’s easy enough,” Athos quipped trying to lighten the mood a bit. D’Artagnan was still healing as it was. The boy didn’t need anything else bringing him down right now. 

“I doubt just any blood will do, brother,” Porthos said. 

At the word ‘brother’, d’Artagnan’s head shot up. He looked at Porthos then turned to look at Athos. No, just any blood wouldn’t work. That was why Aramis was so interested in the possibility of Athos having a sibling. 

“D’Artagnan?” Athos called when he continued to simply look back and forth between them.

“He’s right,” d’Artagnan said. “Anyone’s blood won’t work. It would need to be your brother’s blood.”

“Then I am afraid we are once again at a dead end,” Athos said, swallowing thickly. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Porthos told them. “We’ll figure it out and we’ll get him back. I promise.”

All that night d’Artagnan turned the problem of Athos’ mythical brother over in his mind. He was trying to figure out how to determine if Aramis had been on to something or not. With Athos’ family dead, there wasn’t anyone he could ask or even investigate, not really. Athos’ brother would most likely be an adult by now but not necessarily. It had only been twelve years since the murders. If the child was conceived shortly before then, he would still just be a kid. D’Artagnan hoped for all their sakes that wasn’t the case. This was going to be hard enough without involving some innocent kid. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Porthos asked when he got up the next morning to find d’Artagnan already hard at work. 

“A bit,” d’Artagnan said absently, his attention focused on his computer. He had decided to start with Athos’ father. If there was some unknown brother running around then it was doubtful his mother was the culprit. 

“Kid...” Porthos began eying him worriedly.

“Soon, okay?” D’Artagnan said. “I think I might be on to something.”

“Alright,” Porthos relented. He could understand the kid not wanting to say anything if he was unsure. The last thing they wanted was to get Athos’ hopes up only for whatever it was to come to nothing. 

As d’Artagnan continued his digging, a name caught his eye. _Cossette_. He wasn’t sure where but he knew he’d seen that name somewhere before. Hoping to find other mentions of Cossette, d’Artagnan began pouring over Athos’ family’s old financial records. He found three more mentions of her name before finally finding a last name to go with it. When he did, he froze unable to believe what he was seeing. 

“No way,” he whispered, his eyes going wide. He jotted down a few hasty notes, knowing no one would be able to read them but him. Now that he had a last name, he started searching for it and was surprised at the number of hits. 

Saving his research, d’Artagnan closed down his laptop. Taking a pad of paper with him, he went out onto the balcony to think. This, if it was true, was huge. It could be the very thing they were looking for against the demon. The problem was in discerning if it was really true without hurting the people involved. But he couldn’t not say anything. Even if it wasn’t their best shot at stopping the demon, they deserved to know. 

Taking up the notepad, he started to list out the evidence supporting his theory. He knew Athos had an altruistic streak. It was a safe bet to assume his father had been the same. But this didn’t smack of altruism. The occurrences were too regular for that. Besides, if he was simply helping support a young, single mother, he wouldn’t have hid that from his family, would he? 

As he continued to ponder all of the clues before him, he became more and more convinced he was right. Cossette du Vallon had not been a charity case of the late Mr. de la Fere. She had been something much more personal than that and the son she had borne the very same year that Athos had been born had been as well. It left him wondering how different Porthos’ life might have been had his father’s not been cut short. 

D’Artagnan had been getting ready to go back inside when Athos came out onto the balcony. He sat down in the chair next to him but didn’t say anything. For a few seconds, he thought he might have left his laptop on but Athos didn’t look upset.

“You have found something,” Athos said as he stared off across the way.

“Maybe,” d’Artagnan replied nervously. “I think so at least. But I’m not sure how to corroborate it.”

“You are worried,” Athos observed. “Can whatever you have found out truly be worse than what we have already endured?”

“No,” d’Artagnan said and sighed. “Athos, your lawyer… was he your family’s lawyer, too?”

“Yes,” Athos frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“You need to ask him about a woman named Cossette,” d’Artagnan said. 

“Who is she?” Athos thought the name was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t recall where he’d heard it before.

“Ask your lawyer,” d’Artagnan told him. “If he doesn’t know or won’t tell you then I’ll try to explain but I think he’ll be able to fill in the blanks better than I can.”

Athos made an appointment the following day to meet with his lawyer. He had considered mentioning the woman to him over the phone but held off. He wanted to be able to gauge his reaction to know if he was being honest with him. For that, he needed to catch him off guard. 

D’Artagnan was being completely closed-mouthed about what he was looking into but it was clear the young man was tense. His obvious unease made Athos and Porthos both edgy as well as they tried to concentrate on their own avenues of investigation. 

By the time dinner rolled around, Athos was ready to blow. He had come up against dead end after dead end in his search for Aramis and it was taking its toll on him. He tried to tell himself that no news was a good thing, that it meant the demon was laying low, but the uncertainty only made his insides twist as one horrific scenario after another played itself out in his mind.

“God damn it!” Athos roared as he threw his cell phone across the room angrily. He had thought he had a lead on Aramis but it had turned out to be nothing. Fear and frustration warred for dominance as his fragile control finally snapped.

“Easy, Athos,” Porthos said trying to calm the man. He opened his mouth to ask what had happened when Athos whirled on him.

“Fuck you!” Athos spat. “It’s not your lover out there somewhere doing God knows what. He could be fucking dead for all we know while we sit here with our heads up our asses.”

“Hey!” Porthos shot back, his own temper flaring dangerously. He strode across the room and grabbed Athos by the back of the neck, squeezing hard, then jerked the man into his arms. “We’re scared too, man. But throwing a tantrum isn’t going to get him back.”

“I wasn’t…” Athos started but Porthos squeezed his neck again hard.

“You were. And you were scaring the kid, so knock it off,” Porthos said firmly. “Now, have you got your shit together or do we need to go downstairs and spar for a few rounds?”

Athos nodded tersely then pushed away from Porthos. He headed out onto the balcony needing some space for a few minutes. He was still livid. Livid at their helplessness. Livid with Porthos for pulling him up short. Livid with d’Artagnan for being the reason Aramis was out there somewhere lost to them. Mostly, though, he was livid with himself for being the cause of all of this in the first place. 

It was late by the time he finally calmed enough to risk coming back inside. He saw d’Artagnan and Porthos both sitting on the couch as if waiting for him and scrubbed a hand over his face wearily. When he came around the sofa he saw d’Artagnan’s eyes go wide and wanted to kick himself for his outburst.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he bent down and placed a quick kiss to the top of d’Artagnan’s head. 

“You okay?” Porthos asked.

“No,” Athos replied truthfully. “But I am at least in control of myself again.”

“Good enough,” Porthos said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Athos wasn’t sure what woke him at first. The icy air coming in through the wide open window was akin to a bucket of cold water, bringing him around in an instant. He glanced around the room and froze at the sight of his lover standing by the open window. 

“Aramis?” Athos called as he sat up in bed, his voice shaking as hope and fear both slammed through him. Looking his lover over, Athos noticed how different he looked after only a few days. For one, he was wearing a suit. Aramis never wore suits, he didn’t like them. He was certainly wearing one now though, a dark Armani number over a crisp white shirt. Athos had never seen it before. His hair was slicked back neatly as well, giving him an overly smooth appearance. If Athos didn’t know better, he would think the man before him some corporate shark rather than the former Seminary student he was.

“Not quite,” the demon said, smiling widely as realization dawned.

“What do you want?” Athos spat throwing back the blanket and getting to his feet.

“Now now,” the demon chided. “Let’s not be hasty. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to dear Aramis, would you?”

Athos froze at that, hardly daring to breathe. “What do you want?” he asked again forcing himself to keep his temper in check.

“Maybe I just missed you,” the demon taunted. “Aramis certainly misses you.”

“Let me see him,” Athos beseeched desperately before he could stop himself.

The demon’s grin only widened. “There are rules to this. No one else can find out about our little visit. If they do, I promise Aramis will pay the price.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Athos hastily agreed. “Now let me see him.”

“Ask nicely,” the demon taunted, taking off its jacket and rolling up the sleeves of its shirt.

“Please, may I see him?” Athos asked through gritted teeth.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The demon closed its eyes and a full-body shudder ran through it. A moment later, tortured brown eyes blinked open to stare at his lover.

“Aramis?” Athos called hopefully.

“Athos,” Aramis gasped. He reached toward him, dropping the jacket to the floor forgotten, then suddenly cried out in pain as blood began to stream down his arms. Aramis could only watch in stunned horror as slice after slice cut into his forearms. When it stopped, his knees were weak with pain and his stomach rolled nauseatingly. A gasp from his lover drew his attention and his eyes shot to Athos.

Athos watched helplessly as Aramis’ arm was sliced open right in front of him. He nearly vomited when he realized that the cuts were not random. No, they were not random at all. **ATHOS** was spelled out in bloody letters before his very eyes. Looking at his lover, he could see the pain in his eyes and knew the demon was making sure he felt every slice. 

“Stop. Please,” Athos begged, unable to watch Aramis’ pain and do nothing. 

“But I thought you wanted to see him,” the demon mocked, once more surging to the forefront. “Don’t worry, Athos. He’s right here. He hears and sees and feels everything I wish him to. Can you imagine how much pain I can bring him? This was nothing. I can rip him to shreds from the inside out while you watch. Impotently.”

“We’ll stop you,” Athos told it. He was shaking now and had to clench his hands into fists to keep from reaching for the thing. He had thought not knowing where Aramis was bad enough but to see him like this, to see his helplessness and pain was almost more than he could stand. 

“You can try, but I will kill him before I give him up.” 

The demon left the same way it had come, snatching its jacket from the floor and leaping down from the third story window as if it was nothing. Athos wanted to go after it, to give chase and reclaim his lover but he knew it was futile. By the time he got outside the thing would be long gone. This had been nothing more than the demon flexing its muscles, letting him know that it could come and go as it pleased. 

Sleep was a long time coming that night.


	11. Chapter 11

Athos sat on the balcony trying to come to grips with what his lawyer had told him. He had gone straight out here after coming home, ignoring the questioning looks from Porthos and d’Artagnan. He wasn’t ready to talk about this. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready to talk about this. He didn’t want to believe it. It tore a hole in the very foundation of his existence. 

His father had had an affair. Not only that but he’d had a child with this woman. Had his mother known about it? Their lawyer certainly had. That was one of the things that infuriated Athos the most. He could understand the man not telling the distraught seventeen-year-old he had been after his parents’ deaths, but he wasn’t that boy any longer. 

As he sat on the balcony, his breath pluming in the frigid evening air, he recalled something Porthos had said. He had told them his mother had been dead for about ten years now. That meant she had died within a year of his own parents. They had both been orphaned yet he doubted if their experiences were anything close to the same. He’d had the security of his family’s money to see him comfortably set. Porthos, from what he could gather, had had to make do with considerably less. 

Athos felt his stomach knot as he thought about all the ways Porthos could take the news. It was no secret that they had hit it off as soon as they’d met, both men feeling a sense of kinship with the other. But pride was a tricky thing and Porthos was nothing if not proud. 

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Porthos asked d’Artagnan when he saw the kid looking toward the balcony door again.

“No,” d’Artagnan said.

Porthos quirked an eyebrow and simply looked at him. He was surprised by d’Artagnan’s refusal to even discuss the matter with him. He knew it had something to do with what he had been researching but that was all. 

“Kid...” Porthos began but d’Artagnan shook his head.

“I don’t even know if there’s anything to tell.”

“Obviously there is or Athos wouldn’t be sitting out there freezing his ass off.”

“Whatever it is needs to come from him,” d’Artagnan said firmly. “I’m sorry, Porthos. I don’t have all the answers. Athos... Athos probably does. He knows more than I do at any rate.”

“Then I guess I best go talk to the man.” With a last look at d’Artagnan, Porthos headed to the balcony. He closed the door firmly behind him, wanting to afford Athos the privacy to speak freely even if it was just the three of them in the loft. Whatever this was, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. Not at all.

Athos didn’t move or acknowledge his presence in any way as Porthos sat down next to him. Porthos felt his shoulders go tight with a sudden tension but didn’t say anything at first. Athos was staring off into nothing, his gaze fixed on some point across the street. Even if it hadn’t been dark out, Porthos doubted if he would have seen anything. His mind was clearly focused inward.

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” Porthos said, breaking the silence. He saw Athos start but he didn’t look at him, his gaze still fixed on the building across the street.

“There is nothing to figure out,” Athos said after a minute.

“Then what’s going on?” Porthos pressed. “The kid said I need to hear it from you.”

“You do,” Athos agreed. He sat back and turned his head to look at Porthos. How was he supposed to tell him this? How was he supposed to tell him that they were actually brothers? How was Porthos supposed to not end up hating him now?

A strained silence descended once more but Porthos didn’t press this time. He could see that Athos was struggling with what he wanted to say. Taking a chance, he reached out and laid a hand on the man’s knee, surprised to find it shaking slightly. 

“Just tell me,” Porthos said softly after Athos opened and closed his mouth wordlessly several times.

Athos looked down at the hand on his knee then back up at Porthos’ face. He nodded and took a deep breath. “What do you know of your father?” he asked.

“Not much,” Porthos shrugged, unsure what this had to do with anything. “My mom said he knew about me but couldn’t be in the picture. She didn’t tell me much else.”

“No name or anything about him?”

“No,” Porthos said. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because... because sometime prior to the summer of 1987 my father... my father met a woman. They had an affair and in the spring of ‘88 she had a son. Her name was Cossette du Vallon.”

Porthos sat, stunned. He couldn’t believe what Athos was telling him. They shared the same father. It seemed too unbelievable, that they would find each other after all this time. 

“No,” Porthos said shaking his head. “No way. My mom would have told me...”

“I don’t know why they chose to keep it a secret,” Athos said. It was one of the things that he couldn’t figure out. Surely Porthos’ mother would have had a great deal more to gain by exposing the affair than by keeping quiet. 

Athos could see the skepticism on Porthos’ face. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a worn photograph that the lawyer had given to him. It was one of the few bits of evidence of the affair that existed. It showed a young dark-skinned woman and a slightly older white man with wind-swept hair and Athos’ laughing eyes. On the back, it read “Thomas, All my love. Cossette.”.

Porthos stared at the photo in disbelief. He felt his heart twist at the image of his mother’s smiling face. When his eyes shifted to the man beside her, he felt his nostalgia turn to anger. How dare this man touch his mother like he had some kind of right to? 

“Porthos?” Athos asked when his friend only stared at the picture in his hand for long, tense minutes. 

“So what, your old man could knock my mom up but he couldn’t bother to do right by her?” Porthos snarled as he shot to his feet throwing the picture back in Athos’ face as his temper flared. “You fucking rich guys are all alike. You see something you want, you take it and you don’t give a fuck how many lives you destroy in the process.”

“My dad wasn’t like that,” Athos yelled as he leapt to his feet as well.

“Considering I’m the old man’s bastard, I gotta disagree. Did he figure because she was black nobody would believe her?” His own voice was rising dangerously but he didn’t care.

“Fuck you!” Athos spat, balling his fist and taking a swing before he could think better of it.

Porthos blocked it easily and shoved him back down into his chair. “Like I couldn’t wipe the floor with you, Richie Rich. Your boy was the black belt, not you.” With that, Porthos turned and stormed back through the balcony door, leaving it standing wide open in his wake. He ignored d’Artagnan’s questioning cry, barely pausing to grab his jacket before hurtling down the stairs. He needed to get out of there before he did something that would get him arrested.

He climbed into his SUV, intent on just driving. When he reached for his keys, however, he found his pocket empty. With a snarl, he slammed his hands against the steering wheel angrily. Fuck Athos. And fuck his dad and this demon and all of this shit. He was done. In the hope of his keys miraculously appearing, he patted himself down one more time. He didn’t find his eyes, instead what he found was Aramis’ letter. 

He felt a surge of guilt at the thought of the young man now in the demon’s clutches. None of this was Aramis’ fault yet he had been willing to abandon him to his fate in a fit of anger. Blowing out a breath, he leaned his head back against the headrest and tried to calm himself. Without thought, he found himself pulling the letter from his pocket.

_Porthos,_

_I am so sorry it has come to this but, as I told the others, d’Artagnan was out of time and I had to do something. I know you will not agree with my actions but there are reasons why it had to be me._

_I wish I could be there to help you through the trial you will soon be facing. I cannot, though. All I can do is leave you this letter in the hope that it helps in some small way. You are going to be angry, my friend. You will likely feel betrayed as well. Try to remember that you are not the only one facing this trial. Athos is going to need his brother._

_That said, there is one more thing I would ask of you. If it comes down to it, do not hesitate to kill me, especially if it will put an end to this demon’s reign of terror. I know what I am asking in this. I do. But you are the only one that can._

_Thank you for being my friend, Porthos. Thank you for taking us in and helping us to build a family. It might be a bit unorthodox but it is our family nonetheless. Remember that and know that I am with you in spirit._

_Aramis._

Porthos stared down at the letter, the words taking on an entirely new meaning in light of Athos’ revelation. Aramis had known. Or at least suspected. But why hadn’t he said anything? Porthos realized then that he had kept quiet because he hadn’t known for certain and hadn’t wanted to know. No, he wouldn’t have wanted to know. He wouldn’t have wanted to know anything that sullied precious Athos’ name. 

Shaking his head, Porthos squeezed his eyes shut angrily. The sound of something tapping on the hood startled him and his eyes flew open. What he saw made his blood run cold. There, sitting on the hood of his SUV, was Aramis. Or rather, the demon. It was grinning widely and gave a little wave through the windshield. 

His eyes locked on the demon sitting not three feet away, Porthos carefully reached into his pocket for his cell. “Fuck,” he swore when he came up empty handed. 

“Come now, Porthos,” the demon called. “Aren’t you going to come out and say hello?”

Porthos hesitated for a second then threw open the door. He wouldn’t put it past the demon to come in after him and the last thing he wanted was to be trapped with that thing. And the street, dark and quiet as it was at the moment, was still out in the open. 

“You seem upset,” the demon said in a mocking parody of Aramis’ caring voice. “Lover’s quarrel?”

“No,” Porthos growled as he stalked over to the demon. When was close enough to reach out and touch it, he felt a force suddenly grip him. Then he was being slung around and slammed into the side of the SUV hard enough to knock the breath from him. He could feel fingers wrapping around his throat and tightening, cutting off his air even more and he had to fight not to panic. 

“Now now. Don’t be surly,” it said, releasing him. “I might have to punish dear Aramis for it.”

“What do you mean ‘punish Aramis’?” Porthos panted as he eyed the demon warily. 

“Ask Athos,” the demon smirked.

“What do you want?” Porthos demanded doing his best to keep his voice even.

“So many things. But right now I’d like to know what has driven you from the warmth of your home so late of an evening.”

“Nothing,” Porthos said. What could he say? Storming out of the loft in a huff had been a huge mistake. They needed to stick together if they were going to get through this alive. Not only had he let his temper put himself in danger, but it had put the others at risk as well. What was to stop the demon from taking him out then going after d’Artagnan and Athos?

“Oh don’t look so worried,” the demon laughed. “I have no intention of paying them a visit. It’s you I wanted to talk to.”

“So talk,” Porthos replied. 

“You can walk away you know,” the demon said matter-of-factly. “Just get in and drive. I can ensure you have what you need for a fresh start somewhere far from here.”

“You think I’d leave them?” Porthos asked, aghast. 

“Why not? What are they to you anyway? Cut your losses and get out while you can. Surely they’re not worth dying for. You barely know them.”

“Save your breath,” Porthos told him his anger returning, only now it was focused on the demon. “I’m not running.”

“Then you will die,” the demon said matter-of-factly. It slid off the hood of the SUV and leaned in close. “One last chance, leave while you can, Porthos.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

D’Artagnan had called out to Porthos as the man slammed out of the loft but Porthos didn’t even slow down. Suddenly worried, he raced toward the balcony to see about Athos. He found the man sprawled in one of the chairs staring after Porthos. The raw pain on Athos’ face made his heart hurt and he quickly knelt down next to his chair.

“Athos? Hey c’mon,” d’Artagnan said as he laid a hand on Athos’ arm flinching at the feel of Athos’ ice cold skin under his hand. Knowing he needed to get Athos inside where it was warm, he rose and took the other man by the elbow then carefully pulled him to his feet.

He led Athos over and pressed him down onto the couch. He wrapped the blanket from the back of it around him then sat down beside him. “I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan said softly. He hadn’t meant to cause his friends such grief but they had needed to know.

“It’s not your fault,” Athos said forcing himself to focus on d’Artagnan and not keep running through what had happened on the balcony.

“I didn’t mean to cause you guys to fight.”

“Again, you are not the cause here. And Porthos... he has every right to be angry.”

“At the situation maybe,” d’Artagnan agreed. “But you didn’t do anything.”

“In his eyes I did. At the very least I share in my father’s guilt.”

“But you weren’t even born when it happened.”

“That is irrelevant,” Athos said. Now that he was warming up he was able to think again. There were so many things that needed to be done and he did not have the energy to tackle even a fraction of them. Pushing those thoughts aside for now, he shrugged off the blanket and stood. 

“What are you doing?” D’Artagnan asked. He didn’t like the look that had come over Athos’ face. It was the look of someone being forced to helplessly swallow the bitterest of medicine.

“I need to pack a bag,” Athos replied wearily, the words tearing him apart inside. Porthos and d’Artagnan were all he had left. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get by on his own. He didn’t think he’d have to worry about it for long, though. Not after the demon figured out he was on his own.

“Pack a bag? What?” D’Artagnan surged to his feet and grabbed Athos’ arm. “Porthos kicked you out?”

“No, and I have no intention of forcing him to.” Athos pulled d’Artagnan into a hug and held him. He could feel the tension in the young man and whispered to him soothingly, telling him that everything would be alright. “Stay with Porthos. He’ll look after you.”

Athos reluctantly released d’Artagnan and went to his bedroom. He pulled out a carryall and began filling it with enough clothes to last him for a few days. With no home of his own he wasn’t sure where he was going to go. He supposed a hotel would be his first stop. He didn’t really have any friends. Aramis had been his entire world. He tried not to think about his lover. He had no idea how he was going to get Aramis back on his own. At least he could take comfort in knowing that the demon would most likely leave the other two men in peace after he left.

When Porthos came back inside he found d’Artagnan pacing around the living room. He looked around noticing the balcony door was now closed but didn’t see any sign of Athos. “Where is he?” he asked.

“Packing,” d’Artagnan replied miserably. He couldn’t help but feel like this was all his fault. If he had just kept his suspicions to himself none of this would have happened.

“Packing? What the fuck?” Porthos snarled. This was the very thing the demon wanted, to drive them apart when they needed to stick together most. He took a deep breath and another. He spent a moment hanging up his jacket then headed to Athos’ bedroom.

“I’m almost finished,” Athos said without turning around. “I’ll come back in a few days for the rest once I’ve found a place to stay.”

“You’re not leaving,” Porthos said leaning against the door jamb. He stood and watched Athos for a few minutes. He was tense, so much so he was almost shaking with it. He realized then that as much as this was his only family it was the same for Athos. 

Athos didn’t reply but kept packing instead. He was not going to force his presence on Porthos. The man had endured enough because of him and his family. It ended now. 

“I said you’re not leaving,” Porthos repeated as he pushed away from the door. He crossed the room to Athos and jerked the carryall away tossing it to land by the head of the bed. 

“Yes, I am,” Athos replied stubbornly. “You don’t want me here. I will not force my presence on you in your own home.”

“Okay first, it’s your home, too. You bought the building, remember? Second, who said I don’t want you here?”

“I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers and sign the building over to you,” Athos said, clutching the shirt in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Athos,” Porthos said patiently. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“It’s for the best,” Athos tried to argue, unable to fathom how Porthos could still want him there. “The demon will likely leave you be once it realizes I am no longer here. You and d’Artagnan will be safe.”

“As long as that demon still lives, none of us is safe,” Porthos countered. “When it finds out who I am...”

“It won’t,” Athos said quickly. 

“I still don’t want you to go,” Porthos said, his voice gentle but firm. He meant it. He didn’t want Athos to leave. He might still be pissed about the whole parentage issue but none of that was Athos’ doing. 

“Why?” Athos asked.

“Because you’re my brother. And I didn’t need some lawyer to tell me that.” Porthos told him. He took Athos’ hand and carefully pulled the shirt he was clutching from it. “Besides, you’re not responsible for what your old man did.”

“I’m sorry,” Athos said, his eyes suddenly stinging.

“So am I. I didn’t mean what I said. I was shocked and pissed but I had no right to take it out on you.”

“I don’t blame you. It is a lot to take in. I am still coming to grips with it myself.”

“Come on,” Porthos said. He tossed the shirt onto the bed and took Athos by the arm. “You’re not leaving. This is your home ever bit as much as it is mine.”

When they came back out into the living room they found d’Artagnan waiting anxiously. “Relax, kid,” Porthos said as the pair sat down on the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan apologized again. 

“Why are you sorry?” Porthos asked. 

“I should have left it alone. But I just kept digging and...”

“How did you even find this, d’Artagnan?” Athos asked. 

“I was going back through Aramis’ research and found some notes he made about a possible brother. I started digging from there.”

“Aramis knew of this?” Athos gasped.

“No,” Pothos shook his head. “I don’t think he did. He suspected, that much I’m sure of, but he didn’t know.”

“How do you know that?” Athos asked.

“Well for one, he left the kid a trail of breadcrumbs to follow. Then there’s what he wrote in the letter he left for me. And when I talked to the demon a few minutes ago, it didn’t have any idea what I was so angry about.”

“Wait, the demon was here?” D’Artagnan asked shrilly.

“Yeah,” Porthos said. He went on to tell them about their short meeting. He saw both men flinch when he told them about it trying to get him to leave. “It was fishing.”

“Fishing?” D’Artagnan asked.

“It doesn’t know what we’re up to. It was trying to get me to let something slip. I think it’s getting nervous,” Porthos said.

“Why’s that?” Athos asked.

“Dunno,” Porthos shrugged. “Just a feeling really. But it’s patient. I can’t see it resorting to trying to wheedle information out of me unless it was growing frustrated. For that matter, I can’t see it trying to scare me off either. As far as it’s concerned, I should be little more than a gnat.”

“Do you think it knows?” D’Artagnan asked. “About you being brothers, I mean.”

“No,” Porthos shook his head. “I’m not sure how but Aramis has managed to keep his suspicions from it.”

“What I don’t understand is why Aramis gave up on this,” d’Artagnan said. “It’s like he hit a certain point and then just locked it all away and began researching something else.”

Silence hung in the room before Athos finally broke it. “Because he was preparing for this, for becoming the demon’s next host, and he didn’t want to risk it finding out.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The demon was grinning from ear to ear as it neared the campus. He could still feel the Priest’s simmering anger at the way he had taunted the other man. So the Priest wasn’t completely cowed after all. It was surprised at how pleased it was at that. It would make finally destroying him all the sweeter.

_“If you are so worried for dear Porthos, I could always pay him a visit tonight,” the demon offered. “He’s probably lonely with only Athos and the boy for company. I’m sure he would appreciate some... personal time.”_

Aramis remained stubbornly silent, refusing to rise the the thing’s bait. It did not think it would be so brazen as to attack Porthos in their home. Then again, it had been paying clandestine visits to Athos there with seeming impunity. It was enough to make Aramis attempt to curl up inside himself, pulling as many of his senses inward as possible.

As it neared the building where Aramis’ young cousin, Celeste, was now living, it felt the Priest go still. It chuckled to itself as it continued on until it stood at the corner of her apartment building. It could tell which one was hers right away. Her essence tasted like the Priest’s and it inhaled deeply, drawing it in. 

_“She smells good,” it said to itself, pleased when its host cringed. “Does she taste as good as she smells? Perhaps I should go find out.”_

_“Leave her alone,” Aramis raged, though he was powerless to stop the thing and he knew it. He had never felt so helpless, so insignificant, in his life. Even when the demon had taken him in the alley he had not felt so helpless as this._

_“What will you give me if I do?” the demon taunted._

_Aramis started to say anything but stopped himself. This was how it had manipulated d’Artagnan into helping it. He would not fall victim to the same. Instead of answering, he clamped his mouth stubbornly shut and prayed it would not risk exposing itself by harming Celeste._

_“Smart boy,” the demon chuckled. “You wouldn’t want to make a promise you couldn’t keep after all. But tell me, do you think she’d fight you? Or would she lay back and spread her legs like a good whore?”_

_“She will fight you,” Aramis told it._

_“But it won’t be me she’s fighting.”_

_“She will know, demon, and she will fight you.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late before Athos finally retired for the night. He was so tired he ached with it but he had not wanted to try to sleep, too afraid of what his dreams might bring. He and Porthos had cleared the air between them, both of them apologizing for their angry outbursts. Athos still felt like he had betrayed the man in some way. He knew that wasn’t logical. He hadn’t even been born at the time after all. The pain in Porthos’ eyes when he had told him had been quite real, though, and it hurt Athos to know he was the cause of it.

After yawning for the third time in five minutes, Athos knew he needed to go to bed before he fell asleep right where he was. Reluctantly, he headed for his bedroom. He stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. He said a quick prayer for his lover’s safety then closed his eyes.

It was the frigid air wafting in from the open window that woke him. When he opened his eyes he took in the sight of his lover leaning against the wall and felt his heart start to thunder. Blinking his eyes, he looked at him and knew at once it was not Aramis standing in their bedroom, but the demon. The suit jacket was gone and the sleeves of its white dress shirt were rolled up. It was the eyes that really did it, though. They were hard in a way that Athos had never imagined Aramis’ eyes to be capable of.

“What do you want?” Athos asked wearily. He was still exhausted, mentally and emotionally. Whatever mind games the demon wanted to play, he was not up to. Not tonight.

“Athos,” the demon chided. “Is that any way to greet your lover? He misses you so much that I just had to bring him by to see you.”

“What do you want?” Athos asked again this time throwing back the blanket and coming to stand in front of the thing.

“Kiss me,” the demon replied. It grinned wickedly at the sick look that passed over Athos’ face. 

“No,” Athos said, swallowing against a sudden flood of bile.

“Kiss me,” the demon said again. When Athos only stared at it, it closed its eyes for a moment and shuddered. When it opened them again, Aramis’ pain-filled dark eyes looked at Athos, pleading. 

“Aramis?” Athos whispered recognizing his lover at once.

“Don’t... don’t listen to it,” Aramis said then clutched at his stomach as he moaned weakly. “Don’t let it... don’t let it hu-hurt you.”

Athos started to reach for him but Aramis shrank back. A second later, bloody tears began to trail down his face as he grimaced in agony. Athos surged forward then covering Aramis’ mouth with his own and kissing him deeply. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, not wanting to see the demon’s smirking face and instead concentrated on kissing his lover.

When Athos pulled back, he couldn’t help but meet Aramis’ eyes. The pain he saw there was far beyond any physical discomfort. In that moment, Athos hated himself both for bringing this on Aramis in the first place as well as this newest betrayal. Athos opened his mouth to say something but before he could, another shudder ran through his lover and those dark eyes turned hard and cold once more. 

“See. That wasn’t so hard,” the demon said, laughing outright at the look of disgust on the Survivor’s face. “Tell me, Athos, how far are you willing to go for him, hm? Is there any line you won’t cross in order to spare him pain?”

“Fuck you,” Athos spat his anger getting the better of him.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” the demon said, its eyes narrowing. “I think you should apologize.”

“Go to Hell,” Athos told it. 

“Fine.” Holding out its arms toward Athos, it only smiled as deep cuts began to appear. In less than a minute, both arms were a bloody mess with Athos’ name carved into them.

“Stop it,” Athos snarled helplessly. When the demon only grinned wider he tried again. “I’m sorry. Please... just stop.”

“I don’t believe you,” the demon said. “Prove to me that you’re sorry.”

“How?” Athos asked desperately. Aramis’ blood was running down his arms in rivulets to pool on the floor and he had no doubt that the demon was making him feel every second of this pain.

Reaching into its pocket, it drew out a pen knife and tossed it to Athos. “Your turn,” it said coldly. 

Athos took the knife with shaking hands. He placed the blade against his forearm and looked up at the demon. The unbridled joy he saw there told him there would be no reprieve. Taking a deep breath, he began cutting.

The demon waited until he had finished the ‘A’ then reached out and snatched the knife back out of his hand. “Better,” it said as it slowly healed the wounds it had inflicted on itself leaving Athos to bleed. This had been more fun than it had ever imagined. 

“Get out,” Athos said, his voice weak. He knew the answer to the demon’s question and it scared him because there was nothing he would not do in the name of protecting Aramis no matter how much it tore him apart inside. And the demon knew it.

“Until next time then,” the demon said before exiting via the window once more. 

Athos stood at the windowsill watching it saunter off down the street. He felt sick inside from what he had done. Worse still, he had to simply stand by and watch as the demon walked away. 

Athos didn’t sleep any more that night. His arm ached dully where he had cut himself. He had bandaged it by rote, going through the motions while studiously avoiding meeting his own eyes in the mirror. Doing what that thing had wanted, hurting himself for its pleasure, had left him feeling dirty. He knew, intellectually, that he’d had no choice but he still felt as though he had willingly done the thing’s bidding. He thought this might be a taste of what Aramis had felt after the demon’s attack on him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Porthos walked into the main room the next morning he was surprised to find Athos already up and sitting at the kitchen table. He frowned at the far away look on his face. He had thought they had settled things between them last night. It was clear, however, that Athos had something on his mind.

“You want to talk about it?” Porthos asked as he sat down across from him.

“Ah, sorry,” Athos said. He hadn’t even noticed Porthos until he sat down at the table with him.

“What is it?” Porthos asked gently. He reached out and laid his hand on Athos’ arm causing him to jerk back with a hiss. 

“Sorry. Bruise,” he lied. He could see the skepticism on Porthos’ face but he didn’t press and that was good enough for now. 

“I really am sorry about how I reacted before,” Porthos said, hoping to get Athos to talk to him. “I know this wasn’t...”

“Porthos, no,” Athos said. “That is behind us.”

“Alright, brother,” Porthos sighed. It was clear Athos wasn’t going to tell him anything. He would leave him be for now. If he still appeared troubled later on, he would try to talk to him again. 

When d’Artagnan awoke they all gathered at the kitchen table to go over their findings. “I have found a way to banish the demon,” Athos began. “But it is a lengthy process and we need a way to bind it for long enough to complete the ritual.”

“I found a way to bind it but we don’t have the key component,” Porthos sighed.

“You mean the blood?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Yeah. Athos’ kid brother’s...”

“Is no longer my only brother,” Athos said, eyes widening.

“I’m not related on your mother’s side,” Porthos said but the hope on his face was clear.

“I don’t think that will matter,” d’Artagnan said. “From what I’ve seen of these things your link to Athos is the important part.”

“So we have a way to bind the demon as well as banish it for good?” Athos asked trying not to get his hopes up too much. Just because they had found a possible way to end this did not mean something could not still go wrong. 

“Seems like it,” Porthos said. “All we need is a way to lure it where we want it.”

“I doubt that will be a problem,” Athos said thinking about his last two visits from the demon. 

“How soon could we be ready?” D’Artagnan asked anxiously. The thought of getting Aramis back and ending this nightmare had his hands shaking around his coffee mug.

“There’s other stuff we need for the binding. Probably the banishment, too.”

“Yes,” Athos said. “Quite a few things.” They put together a list of everything they would need. Looking it over, Porthos figured it would take at least a week, possibly longer, to assemble everything and get an area set up. They decided to use the gym. It was big enough and open enough for what they planned to do. 

By mid-morning they had a tentative plan. Their spirits noticeably lighter, Athos and d’Artagnan returned to their research. They were so close. They couldn’t risk something going wrong. Porthos in the meantime began assembling the list of items they had put together. Some of them were easy enough but others were going to take some digging to find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For three days everything was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that they were starting to get edgy. Athos’ lawyer had called and told him the police were dropping their investigation into him and his associates due to a lack of evidence. That was one less thing they had to worry about at least.

The demon had paid Athos another visit during that time, adding to the carving on his arm. It hadn’t stayed long and had left Athos cleaning up a puddle of his own blood as it laughed. 

Porthos was doing his best to keep an eye on Athos without the man noticing. He was dismayed by how easy that was proving to be. It was yet more evidence that something was going on with him, something that he was not telling them. He started to ask him about it a couple of times but was hesitant. The last thing they needed was Athos pulling away from them even further. It was hard to ignore the wan skin and red-rimmed eyes, though. If Porthos didn’t know better, he’d swear the man hadn’t slept in days. 

Porthos wasn’t the only one to notice that something was going on. Later that day when Athos’ lawyer called, d’Artagnan took the opportunity to pull Porthos aside.

“What’s up?” Porthos asked somewhat warily.

“Something’s going on with Athos,” d’Artagnan stated flatly. “I don’t know what but...”

“Yeah, kid, I know,” Porthos agreed with a sigh. 

“What do we do?” D’Artagnan asked anxiously.

“Not much we can do,” Porthos said reluctantly. He saw a look of dismay cross over d’Artagnan’s face and squeezed his shoulder. “We can’t make him talk to us if he doesn’t want to. But we can sit him down and let him know that we know he’s going through something right now and that he doesn’t have to try to do it alone.”

“Alright,” d’Artagnan said. “It’s just...”

“Just what?”

“He looks... I don’t know... weak? Like something’s sucking the life out of him a little at a time.”

On the fourth day, Porthos got a call from Constance. She was nearly hysterical on the phone and it took him over ten minutes just to get her calmed down enough to tell him what was wrong. 

“Aramis was here,” she finally managed. 

“Where?” Porthos asked his stomach dropping.

“In the shop,” she replied shakily. “He said he just dropped by to see how I was getting on with Samara gone. He...”

“He what?” 

“He was smiling. Like it was all one big joke. He could tell I was afraid and... it only made him smile bigger.”

“Does he know what you were working on for us?” Porthos asked quickly. 

“No,” Constance replied. “At least I don’t think so. I had all of that in the back. He didn’t go anywhere near it.”

“Alright,” Porthos said, relieved. “I want you to get out of there. Close the shop for the day...”

“I most certainly will not,” Constance shot back. “This thing isn’t running me out of my shop.”

“This thing killed Samara,” Porthos told her. 

“What?” Constance gasped. 

Porthos realized then that they hadn’t shared their discovery about the demon’s activities with Constance and cursed. “We think the demon killed Samara,” he told her not knowing any way to soften the news. “We think it killed Father Stefan and Aramis’ grandmother, too.”

“Oh my God. He... he...”

“It,” Porthos corrected. “It was the demon, Constance. The host it’s riding is powerless. Which is why you need to get out of there.”

“I’m not running,” she said with a great deal more bravado than she felt. “But Porthos, he said something else. He... he mentioned Athos while he was here. I don’t know if it means anything but it seemed like it did.”

“Alright, just be careful,” Porthos relented. “It won’t try anything in broad daylight, but try to stay where there are people if you can.” 

When Porthos told the others about Aramis’ visit to Constance, both men were worried. While they could understand her refusal to be run off by the demon, pride was not worth dying for. Knowing that the demon was targeting those around them once more spurred them on. They needed to end this before the demon decided to up the stakes yet again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“She’s pretty enough,” the demon taunted Aramis as they left Constance’s shop. It had felt him trying to fight it but the Priest was no match for it. The longer it took possession of him the weaker he became. The boy had been little more than a shell by the time it had left him. It would see the Priest totally destroyed before it relinquished its hold._

_“Leave her alone, demon,” Aramis said angrily. Constance had already lost her best friend because of this thing. He would not see her suffer yet more at its hands._

_“And what will you do if I don’t?”_

_Aramis could feel the demon laughing at his impotence and it only made him angrier. He tried to wrest control away from it, using his anger as a weapon but the demon continued to laugh at his feeble attempts._

_Suddenly, pain like he had never felt before seared along his veins. Aramis cried out in his mind, the pain excruciating. It felt like he was on fire, being burned alive while the demon merely smirked at him._

_“Please...” Aramis begged unable to stop himself. He could actually feel fire licking against his arms and legs. He knew it was just another trick of the demon but the pain he felt was real enough._

_“Your pleas are as sweet like this as they were when I had you on your knees.”_

_“Stop,” Aramis moaned weakly. He could barely think, the pain threatening to consume him. The smell of his own flesh burning was enough to make him gag as he writhed. His entire world had been reduced down to the searing agony enveloping him._

_“You’re pathetic, Priest,” the demon sneered as the pain began to slowly diminish. “Perhaps I should pay a visit to dear Athos. We can see if he begs as easily as you do.”_

_“no...” Aramis choked. Hot tears ran down his face as he began to cough. He tried to tell himself that it was all in his mind, that he was not truly being burned alive. Yet the scorching agony that engulfed him was impossible to deny._

_“I will have him on his knees begging me for death before I am finished with him. And all while wearing your face. Your hands will be the one to hurt him. Your voice will be the one to taunt him. And he will die begging you for mercy.”_

_In the blink of an eye it was over and Aramis was left curled in a ball inside himself sobbing out his pain and fear and praying once more to a God he was not sure was even listening._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Athos lay awake in his bed staring up at the ceiling. It had been days since the demon’s last visit. The cuts on his arm were healing though they were still painful. He had made sure to keep them covered so Porthos and d’Artagnan would not catch sight of them. He knew Porthos was worried about him but there wasn’t much to be done for it. He couldn’t tell him about the demon’s visits for fear of the thing hurting Aramis in retaliation.

The sound of his windows sliding open drew his attention and by the time the demon climbed through he was sitting up in bed waiting for it. He saw the flash of surprise on its face then it was smiling at him as it took up its usual position leaning against the wall.

“Did you miss me?” the demon taunted. 

“Why do you keep coming here like this?” Athos asked as he looked over his lover. He was wearing a fresh white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Athos thought he could see a faint outline of where the demon had sliced him. His hair was still slicked back, giving Aramis a more severe appearance and Athos thought he had lost weight.

“Why not?” the demon replied. “Tormenting you like this is one of the high points of my day really.”

It was on the tip of Athos’ tongue to ask the demon to take him instead but he didn’t. For one, he knew his lover would never forgive him. For another, he wasn’t sure what might happen if the demon took him considering his lineage.

“What? Nothing to say? Come now, Athos. Surely you have something you wish to say to your precious Aramis.”

“Anything I want to say to Aramis, he already knows,” Athos replied. 

“Stubborn tonight,” the demon mused. “Fine. Kiss me then.”

Athos wanted to argue, wanted to fight, but he knew it would only end up causing Aramis pain. Beaten, he drew back the blanket and stood. This time when he moved close the demon didn’t wait. It grabbed him and jerked him in flush against him causing Athos to gasp. Seizing the opportunity, it kissed Athos hard, shoving its tongue into his mouth and forcing him to accept it. 

For long minutes the demon kissed him, one hand fisted at the back of his head to hold him in place. It could feel Athos shaking against it and that only made it try to kiss him harder. This was even better than forcing the Priest. In a way, it was forcing itself on both of them at once as it made Aramis endure his lover’s torment right along with him. 

By the time it released him and allowed Athos to step back the man was panting. The demon could see bruises already beginning to form around his wrist where he had grabbed him. The sight of its marks on the Survivor sent a dark thrill through it that had the Priest quailing. 

“Show me how much you love me,” the demon commanded.

“I don’t love you,” Athos replied.

“Athos! What a horrible thing to say to your lover,” the demon admonished. “He’s been missing you so much. Do you know he weeps for you? Weeps and pleads to his God for your protection. As if God would listen to the prayers of a simpering little faggot like him.”

“Shut up!” Athos snapped.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Don’t like the truth?”

“The truth? You wouldn’t know the first thing about the truth. You’re made of lies.”

“Perhaps. But all lies have a kernel of truth in them. That’s what makes them so hard to distinguish from the truth. Now show me how much you love me.”

“No,” Athos refused.

“Fine. Then listen to him scream while he burns alive again.” 

“No! Stop!” Athos cried out aghast at the thought of Aramis enduring such pain.

“Then show me,” the demon demanded.

“How?” Athos asked desperately. 

The demon reached into its pocket and drew out the penknife once more tossing it to Athos. “Finish it this time.”

Athos looked the thing in the eyes and knew it was serious. He would do what it said or he would be forced to watch Aramis’ agony. Taking up the knife, Athos held out his arm. He took a deep, steadying breath then began to carve the remainder of Aramis’ name into his flesh.

He had just finished the ‘S’ when Porthos and d’Artagnan came bursting into his room having heard Athos cry out. Their entrance startled him so badly he dropped the knife. D’Artagnan started to move forward at once intent on getting to Athos. When his eyes met the demon’s however he froze as a torrent of repressed memories broke free. With a strangled moan he slid to his knees his hands clutching at his head as atrocity after atrocity played itself out behind his eyes.

Porthos saw d’Artagnan go down out of the corner of his eye but kept his attention firmly focused on the demon. He gripped his talisman tightly in one hand, his other holding a flask of Holy Water threateningly. 

“Get out,” Porthos ordered, his mouth set in a grim line. 

“You think you can make me?” the demon shot back.

“Yes,” Porthos replied taking a step toward it. He knew he couldn’t harm it, not really, but he was fairly certain he could drive it off for now. “Unless you want another Holy Water bath. I didn’t think you liked it too much the last time.”

“Careful now, boy. You wouldn’t want to piss me off,” it sneered.

“Get. Out.” Porthos took another step toward it brandishing the flask. He was relieved when the demon actually took a step back but was careful not to show it.

“I’ll be seeing you again,” it said to Porthos. With a last look to Athos, the thing slipped back out the open window.


	12. Chapter 12

As soon as the demon was out the window Porthos crossed the room and slammed it shut. He turned around ready to tear into Athos and demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing when he caught sight of d’Artagnan kneeling crumpled on the floor.

“Help me get the kid,” Porthos growled instead after giving Athos a quick once over. He could see that his arm was bleeding but couldn’t tell how bad it was. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with the kid but Athos was still on his feet so that was good enough.

Together they lifted d’Artagnan from the floor and half carried him into the living room. Porthos sat them both on the couch and went to get the first aid kit. He grabbed the bourbon as well and carried it all out to the coffee table. 

Pouring a generous amount into a glass, he managed to get d’Artagnan to take a drink. The younger man’s eyes were wide open and he looked like he wanted to be sick. Porthos wasn’t sure what was wrong with him but it didn’t appear to be physical. Athos, on the other hand, was bleeding all over their sofa.

“Let me see your arm,” he said to Athos as he set the glass of bourbon aside and opened the first aid kit.

“It’s fine,” Athos said as he drew the appendage subtly closer.

“I wasn’t asking, Athos,” Porthos said firmly.

With a great deal of trepidation, Athos held out his bleeding arm to Porthos. He heard d’Artagnan moan weakly at the sight of it and winced. D’Artagnan had already been through so much and here he was putting the boy through yet more. 

Porthos did his best not to react as he pressed a wad of gauze against the wound to try to stem the bleeding. He was so angry he wanted to shake the man and the plaintive sound d’Artagnan had made when he saw the state of Athos’ arm only made it worse. As much as he wanted to shake some sense into Athos, however, he didn’t. He knew his brother was holding on by a thread right now and it was fraying fast.

“How long has this been going on?” Porthos asked after counting to ten in his head. He tried to mimic the way he had seen Aramis act when one of them was hurt. No matter how much he might have been freaking out inside, he always stayed calm, always spoke like they were talking about nothing more important than the weather, using his calm to foster calm in the one he was treating.

“Since it took him. It... it came to me that first night,” Athos said softly, the shame of it making him want to be ill. “It said it would hurt him if I told you. That’s why...”

Porthos went still, his eyes shooting up to lock with Athos’. “Has it been hurting you all this time?”

“N-no. Not... not every time,” Athos stammered. 

“Okay,” Porthos said. He took a deep breath and went back to tending to Athos’ arm. He had gotten the bleeding to slow but he needed to clean it in order to see how much damage had been done. Unlike Aramis, he couldn’t sew someone up. If Athos needed stitches they would have to go to the ER and that would be problematic. 

“What is it?” Athos asked. Porthos was staring down at his arm just looking at it. 

“I need to clean this up so I can see how bad the damage is,” Porthos explained. “If the cuts are too deep, we’ll have to take you to the ER to get them stitched.”

“No,” Athos shook his head. “We can’t.”

“Athos, we may not have a choice.”

“We can make do here,” he insisted. He saw Porthos start to argue and shook his head. “We can’t. If I go to the ER they’ll take one look at my arm and stick me in a psych ward.”

“We can say you were attacked,” Porthos offered though he already knew that wouldn’t work.

“There isn’t another mark on me. I can hear the police now asking who attacked me. And why did they carve Aramis’ name into my arm? And oh, by the way, where is Aramis because we’d like to ask him a couple of more questions about his grandmother’s death seeing as how his name is getting carved into people’s arms all of a sudden.”

“It could scar bad, brother,” Porthos told him.

“I don’t care about that,” Athos said. “I mean, at least it was his name it made me... It wasn’t... wasn’t something profane or... or obscene...”

“Hey, easy,” Porthos said. He reached over and squeezed Athos shoulder gently. Athos had said this was all the demon did but that wasn’t necessarily the case. For whatever reason, Athos had a tendency to consider anything that didn’t leave him in the hospital as trivial.

Athos actually flinched at the unexpectedly gentle touch. For all that he was sitting here safe with Porthos and d’Artagnan, a part of him was still trapped in that room with the demon as he carved up his own flesh for its pleasure. Without warning, he felt a tentative touch along his good arm and looked over to see d’Artagnan edging closer to him. The young man’s eyes were still wide with fear and Athos lifted his arm, beckoning him closer without thought.

D’Artagnan went still when Athos moved then he moaned and surged forward, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and burrowing his head into his chest. When he felt Athos’ arm tighten around him, he couldn’t stop a sob from escaping.

“Porthos, we need to see about him,” Athos said softly as he held the boy tight against him.

“I know and we will but we need to see to your arm first,” Porthos said. “You’re still oozing blood. We need to get this cleaned and bandaged.”

“Alright, but make it quick.”

Porthos hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a couple of old towels and a bottle of alcohol. He cringed at the thought of pouring it over Athos’ bloody arm but it was the quickest way to clean it and the wounds needed to be sterilized. He just hoped Athos could keep from screaming when he did it. The kid was in bad enough shape as it was. Porthos didn’t think he could take much more.

Back in the living room, Porthos folded the towel in half on the coffee table then laid Athos’ arm on top of it. Hopefully it would soak up the majority of the excess liquid so they didn’t make too big of a mess. He set the open bottle of alcohol down next to his arm then looked at the man. 

“I’m gonna hold your arm down,” Porthos said. “I’ll be as quick as I can but I need to get this blood cleaned off and the wound flushed so I can see what I’m working with.”

“Do what you need to,” Athos told him. “I’ll do my best not to jerk away.”

“That’s why I’m gonna keep hold of your arm. You ready?”

Athos nodded and hugged d’Artagnan to him a little big tighter. Then Porthos was pouring liquid fire over his arm and he was biting his lip not to scream as agony seared along his veins. He gasped, trying to ride it out. He could feel d’Artagnan’s slim arms hugging him tightly and felt a surge of gratitude.

“It’s... it’s... okay,” Athos panted. “I’m... okay.”

“Almost done,” Porthos said. He set the alcohol aside and picked up the other towel. As carefully as he could, he wiped Athos arm clean. The fresher wounds were oozing blood sluggishly again but a little pressure would take care of that. From an artistic perspective, Athos had done a half way decent job of it. A couple of the letters were a little jagged but they were more or less proportionate and ran down his arm in a fairly straight line.

“How, um, how does it look?” Athos managed once the searing fire had died down a bit.

“Not bad,” Porthos said. “It could use stitches in some places but we can make do with what we have. It’ll scar, like I said, but you did a decent job of it.”

“Decent job?” D’Artagnan squeaked, his head shooting up to glare at Porthos.

“Sorry, kid,” Porthos said, chagrined. “I just meant the scar wouldn’t, well... Aw hell. I don’t know what I meant.”

“It’s alright, Porthos.”

“Not like you can’t get it removed anyway,” Porthos chuckled.

“I have no intention of getting it removed,” Athos said calmly.

“Come again?” Porthos replied.

“I am not _erasing_ any part of Aramis from me, not even his name carved into my arm,” Athos said.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan whispered his head burrowing into Athos’ chest once more. He gripped Athos’ t-shirt tightly in his fists and squeezed his eyes shut. His mind was a jumble of images, fragmented memories that he had been repressing. Coming face to face with the demon, however, had been the catalyst they needed to break free and d’Artagnan now found himself inundated with one heinous sight after another. 

“D’Artagnan?” Athos called worriedly. He looked down trying to catch a glimpse of his face but the younger man only burrowed into him more. “D’Artagnan... Charlie... it’s okay. You’re safe now. I won’t let it get to you again. I... I promise.”

“He should have let it kill me,” d’Artagnan said. He started to say something else but all that came out was a sob. A second later he was bawling into Athos’ chest as the horror of what all he had been party to caught up with him.

“Never,” Athos told him. “He would never have let that happen and neither would we. What the demon did, that wasn’t you, d’Artagnan.”

“Oh God. I remember... I remember... how I... I-I-I taunted them. I played with them. The more afraid they were, the more I liked it. I... I got off on it.”

“You didn’t get off on anything,” Porthos said, his voice strong and sure. “None of this was your doing, kid. You were just as much a victim here as everyone else.”

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the little old lady I left in pieces all over her kitchen,” d’Artagnan shot back, the note of hysteria in his voice clear.

“What did Aramis say to you?” Athos asked calmly. 

“He didn’t say anything,” d’Artagnan said, shaking his head. “He never got the chance. The demon...”

“No,” Athos said. “In his letter. What did he say to you in his letter?”

“He... he said it wasn’t my fault,” d’Artagnan admitted slowly. “But Athos, I ra-”

“No,” Athos said again, cutting d’Artagnan off before he could say it. “You did nothing. It was the demon that hurt him. You were simply the one it was possessing at the time. Did it thrill to the idea of forcing the pair of you to act out such a scenario? Of course it did. It was a perversion of all you feel for each other and the demon thrives on perversity. Aramis knew that, just as he knew the act for what it was, an attack on the both of you.”

“How can you even stand to look at me?” D’Artagnan whispered. The release of his memories felt as though they had drained him of all strength. Still, he gripped Athos’ t-shirt in his fists as tightly as he could, terrified that the man might disappear if he let go.

“I love you, d’Artagnan,” Athos said earnestly. “As does Porthos. As does Aramis. I dare say it was his love for you that led him to agree to take your place as the demon’s host. He simply could not bear the thought of living in a world without you in it.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” d’Artagnan wept as Athos wrapped his arms around him and held him. “Athos... Athos, I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh. Hush now,” Athos whispered as he rocked him as best he could there on the sofa. “Everything will be okay. We have you. It’s alright.”

Porthos watched the pair, not interrupting as they talked their way through the worst of d’Artagnan’s fears. He knew there would be many long potentially painful talks to come but they would make it. They hadn’t suffered through all of this just to lose each other to grief and guilt. 

Athos kept d’Artagnan close to him for the rest of the night. They slept curled together on the sofa with Porthos sleeping in the chair next to them, as if standing guard. He had been a bit worried when Athos had laid down and pulled d’Artagnan down next to him, unsure if the kid was okay with anyone other than Aramis being quite that tactile with him. D’Artagnan however had been more than fine with it, latching onto Athos’ arm and pulling it around him snugly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“They are stronger than you think,” Aramis told the demon, proud of the way they had thwarted it. Perhaps now Athos would be safe. At the very least he would no longer be able to hide what the demon had been doing to him, something Aramis was certain he had been doing._

_“Strong?” the demon mocked. “Apparently you missed the boy falling to his knees in terror at the mere sight of me. Or should I say... you. Poor little lamb. All those horrible, horrible memories he had managed to lock away. Not any more, though.”_

_“Shut up,” Aramis spat, his heart twisting as he remembered d’Artagnan falling to his knees._

_“What’s wrong? Don’t care for the truth? How about I take you for a little stroll down memory lane?”_

_Before Aramis could even start to protest, he mind was suddenly awash in memories. One by one, the demon made him relive every horrific moment, from d’Artagnan’s first attack on him in the gym to their encounter in the alley and beyond. It did not stop at what had been done to him, either. It made Aramis relive every heinous act it had forced d’Artagnan to perpetrate. When it was done, Aramis had once more retreated into himself in a desperate attempt to keep what was left of his mind from shattering._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Porthos came awake with a groan, the light spilling in through the balcony door rousing him. He could tell it was around mid-morning as he quietly sat up. Thankfully, his two charges were still asleep on the couch so he got up and headed to Athos’ bedroom. Looking around the room, he saw the blood staining the floor near the window and felt his anger stir. He was tempted to nail Athos’ window shut but he doubted if it would keep the demon out. Not if it truly wanted to get in. 

He glanced back into the living room to make sure both men were still asleep then went to the bathroom to get something to clean the floor with. He shuddered as he thought of Athos doing this himself. It made his heart ache to think of Athos hurt and scared, wiping away the evidence of what had been done to him in a futile bid to protect his lover.

Once the floor was clean, he stood up and eyed the window again. He might not be able to nail it shut but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still do something about it. He was pretty sure the kid had some old motion sensor alarms down in his workshop. If he didn’t, Porthos would bet money he’d have some ready before the day was out. That thing wasn’t coming into their home again without them knowing about it. Just because it got its claws into Aramis didn’t mean Athos was up for grabs as well.

When Athos awoke he thought at first he was still dreaming. The feel of a warm body in his arms pressed up flush against him nearly making him moan. A few seconds later reality came crashing back in as he recognized the much smaller size of said body. He started to draw back, choking down the curses that wanted to be let free when he felt d’Artagnan stiffen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sagging in defeat. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“What’s wrong?” d’Artagnan asked muzzily. 

“Nothing,” Athos told him sadly. “Everything is… is exactly as it should be.”

“Oh,” d’Artagnan said understanding dawning. “I’m sorry.”

“Enough of that,” Athos said. He pressed back against the back of the sofa and pulled d’Artagnan over onto his back so he could look at him. “You have nothing to apologize for. I mean that. I woke up… confused for a moment. That is all.”

“We’ll get him back,” d’Artagnan said fervently. “I promise you we will.”

“I know. But I am not a patient man where Aramis is concerned.”

“Bullshit,” Porthos said, making both of them start. “You hid your love for him for years. And then you waited for him, giving him all the time in the world. You never once got tired of waiting for him. Just wait a little longer, brother. You’ll get him back. You’ve just got to wait a little longer.”

They set up the alarm on Athos’ window then decided to do the rest of the loft for good measure. Porthos didn’t want to chance the demon sneaking in another way if it found its usual entrance inaccessible. He didn’t think it would discourage the thing for long but it didn’t have to. They only needed a few more things and they would be ready. Then all they had to do was get the demon to the gym. Porthos didn’t think that would prove too difficult either.

Since sending the demon running, he had called to check in with Constance and let her know to be on her guard. This thing had a tendency to take its displeasure out on those close to them and he didn’t want to see her end up on that list. Besides which, she was working on getting one of the last things they needed. Without her, they were screwed. 

Days passed and they were all growing noticeably tenser. They knew something was coming just not when or even what and it was putting them on edge. Porthos and d’Artagnan had taken to sleeping in the living room, not wanting to be too far away from Athos who steadfastly refused to give up his room. It was bad enough he did not have Aramis at his side, he would not give up the bed they had shared, foolish though it might be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It growled in frustration from the alley beside the magic shop. The woman, Constance, had changed the store hours, only coming and going in broad daylight. While it could likely take her in the shop if it wanted, it was risky. Too many neo-Pagan wannabes frequented the place, forever running in and out buying crystals and amulets and whatever else had ensnared their vapid little minds. And while wholesale slaughter was always a delight, it was a risk it could not afford at the moment. Later, when it was done with the Priest, it would come here and paint the walls with the bitch’s blood. For now, it looked like she got to live.

Sticking to the darkened alleys and side streets, it made its way back to the warehouse district. It could feel the Priest stirring within it, just as he always did whenever they drew near his precious Athos. It was going to enjoy letting him come back to himself just to feel his lover’s blood spilling over his hands. It hadn’t decided yet if it would take Athos first or save him for last. Probably last. Let him watch his newfound family suffer and die first, knowing it was all because of him.

Casting a hasty glance up and down the street, it quickly scaled the wall next to Athos’ bedroom. Grinning widely, it threw open the window and nearly lost its grip at the ear-splitting wail that rang out. It heard the men inside shout and then lights were coming on across the street. With a snarl, it leapt to the ground and rushed around the building into the alley in a rage.

As it stood gathering its wits and watching for any sign it had been spotted, it fumed. Its fists opened and closed as its chest heaved. Oh it would make them pay for that! How dare they show such open defiance? How dare they think to thwart it? It had existed for centuries and these… these _insects_ thought they could best it with their gadgets and tricks and precious fucking love? It would show them. It would show them all. And it would start with that flame-haired whore in the magic shop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All three men came awake with a shout as the alarm on Athos’ window blared to life. Athos rolled from the bed into a defensive crouch as Porthos and d’Artagnan came barreling into the room. All they found, however, was the half-open window. The demon was nowhere in sight. D’Artagnan quickly shut off the alarm before someone decided to call the cops, resetting it just in case, while Porthos closed and locked the window once more. 

“Guess he didn’t like our little surprise,” Porthos said.

“No,” Athos chuckled as he tried to get his own heart to crawl back out of his throat. He neglected to voice his worry over just what the demon might do in retaliation. He needn’t have bothered.

“You don’t think he’ll go after someone else do you?” d’Artagnan asked. 

Porthos stilled at that then hurried to his phone. He dialed Constance’s number, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited for her to pick up. “Get out of your apartment,” he said as soon as she answered.

“What? Why?” she demanded.

“Because the demon was just here but we chased it off.”

“What’s that got to do with me?” 

“It doesn’t like being thwarted,” Porthos explained. “It didn’t get to… to do what it wanted to here. That means it’s likely to try to take its displeasure out on someone else.”“I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Constance, there aren’t that many people left around us we care about,” Porthos said gently. “Now please, just go to a hotel for the night. Come morning you should be safe enough.”

“Fine,” she relented more due to the pleading tone in Porthos’ voice than anything else. “But you’d better end this soon.”

“We will. One way or the other, we will.”

“Is she leaving?” Athos asked when Porthos hung up.

“Yeah, but she won’t run. We gotta end this.”

“Alright,” Athos said. “Tomorrow we get the gym ready and get the last of what we need. The next time the demon comes to call, we’ll be waiting for him.”

Athos slept in fits and starts for the rest of the night. He knew it was unlikely that the demon would return but every errant creak was enough to propel him into wakefulness. When he finally gave up and headed into the living room he was surprised to find Porthos asleep on the couch while d’Artagnan read a book in the chair beside him.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked quietly, trying not to wake Porthos.

“My shift,” d’Artagnan grinned.

“Come again?” Athos shook his head.

“What? You didn’t think we were just going to go back to sleep after that thing tried to get in here again, did you?”

“You reset the alarm,” Athos reasoned, stunned at the lengths the two men were willing to go to for him. 

“And we all know that alarm wouldn’t be enough to keep that thing out. Not if it was determined to get in here,” Porthos said sitting up with a yawn. 

“It’s still early,” d’Artagnan pointed out. “You sure you don’t want to get some more sleep?”

“I’m only tossing and turning in there anyway,” Athos said. 

“Alright, then let’s get to work,” d’Artagnan replied. 

They went back over their plan one final time. They still needed to pick up the ritual book that Constance had found for them as well as the Holy Water and Communion Wafer from the Mendozas. Not wanting to leave Athos alone, they decided that Porthos would get them while d’Artagnan and Athos set up the gym. Alarm or no alarm, they knew the demon would come for Athos again once it was dark and they needed to be ready for it.

Porthos called Constance and arranged to meet her for breakfast on the way in to her shop. He wanted to check on her in person and warn her again to be careful as well as pick up the book they needed. With any luck, the demon would no longer be a concern after today. At least for her, any way. Once they had the thing successfully bound it would not be able to affect anything outside the confines of the binding circle. All they had to do was get it to the gym and not fuck up.

To say Constance was annoyed was an understatement. She didn’t like being forced from her home, having to hide like some frightened mouse. She understood that this thing was dangerous. It was likely responsible for Samara’s death, after all, and she had seen how menacing it could be first hand. She still didn’t like the idea of running, though.

When Porthos insisted on walking her the rest of the way to her shop it only rankled more. “It’s two blocks away,” she argued. “How bloody dangerous can it be?”

“Look, this will all be over soon and you’ll never have to see any of us again, alright?” Porthos said. 

“Well you don’t have to be like that about it,” she shot back. “It’s not that I mind the company, I just don’t think it’s necessary.”

“It’s necessary,” Porthos said flatly. 

“Fine.” She shoved the book into his chest and headed toward the corner leaving him to catch up. A few seconds later she felt him fall in at her side but she refused to look at him. She heard him chuckle softly and tossed her head in mock anger. She was about to say something when her storefront came into view.

Constance came to a stumbling halt, her hand flying to her mouth at the sight of her shop. The front window had been smashed in and the door hung on a single hinge. She glanced at Porthos then started to move forward but his hand on her arm stopped her.

“No,” he said. “Go back to the restaurant. Call the cops. Don’t go back until they get there.” Porthos didn’t think the demon would be foolish enough to show itself in public. While the cops would surely be no match for it, having Aramis’ picture splashed all over the news would certainly be a hinderance. No, Constance would be safe enough as long as stayed around other people. 

“Porthos...”

“Leave when they leave,” he continued, his eyes looking up and down the street warily. “Don’t stay behind and don’t go home. Stay at the hotel again. Stay there until we call you and tell you it’s okay to go home. I’m sorry, Constance. I have to go.”

“Go. I’ll be fine,” she said, swallowing thickly. She turned and watched him head back down the street before hurrying back to the restaurant to call the police. 

Meanwhile, Athos and d’Artagnan were busily preparing the downstairs gym for the battle to come. They hauled the mats covering the floor out of the way leaving it bare. Then, using the ritual Porthos had found as a guide, they painstakingly drew out the binding circle with the “chalk” d’Artagnan had created. It consisted mostly of salt with some Holy Water, Host and a few drops of both Athos’ and Porthos’ blood mixed in. It was the blood that d’Artagnan theorized would be the part to truly hold the demon prisoner, the other elements merely weakening it slightly and thus adding to the effectiveness of the blood.

“Are you sure this is going to be enough to hold it?” Athos asked after the last of the runes had been drawn.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said with a great deal more certainty than he felt. He told himself he wasn’t really lying as much as he was trying to bolster Athos’ confidence and keep him from worrying. This would work or it wouldn’t. But for it to have any chance at all, they had to believe in it. If Athos couldn’t do that then they were all as good as dead.

Porthos was just leaving the Mendozas when his phone rang. He saw Constance’s name scroll across his phone and felt his stomach clench. “Constance? You okay?”

“He nailed a cat to the front door of my shop,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“Where are you?” he asked quickly.

“A hotel,” she said, though she didn’t tell him which one. 

“Not the same one as last night?” 

“No,” she replied. “After that...”

“Smart girl,” Porthos told her. “You lay low and you don’t tell anyone where you are. Not me. Not the cops. No one. This will all be over soon. I promise you.”

Porthos didn’t waste any time after that, heading straight back to the loft. He carefully checked for any sign of the demon before getting out of his SUV. When he saw that the coast was clear, he headed for the door, relieved to see no sign of any poor animal nailed to it. As soon as he stepped inside, however, he realized his mistake. 

Of course there was no mutilated cat adorning their front door. That would have drawn too much attention even down here. The demon was much more circumspect than that. The thing that bothered Porthos, though, aside from the poor animal that hung suffocated by the noose around its neck, was the fact that the demon had gotten in here at all with none of them being the wiser. 

As soon as Porthos thought it, he realized what it meant. The animal had not been there when he had left to meet Constance. That meant the demon had been here while he was away. Hell, for all he knew the thing was still here. Just like that Porthos knew it was true, the thing was still there inside the building somewhere. He didn’t know how he knew, only that he did. Tucking his parcels into his jacket so he would not lose them, he turned and dashed toward the stairs, praying fervently that the thing had not gotten to his brothers.

“Athos! D’Artagnan!” Porthos called as he came racing through the door. He saw both men jump at his cry and look around wildly.

“What?” Athos asking his stomaching knotting at the wild-eyed look of panic on Porthos’ face.

“It’s here,” Porthos panted.

Athos and d’Artagnan stared at each other then began to move. D’Artagnan quickly gathering the papers they had been working on from the coffee table while Athos hurried to the chest on the kitchen table. He rushed over with it, slamming it down and d’Artagnan shoved the papers he had gathered into it.

They were so intent on gathering the things they would need they didn’t notice the figure step out of the doorway of Athos’ bedroom. “In a hurry?” the demon asked, grinning smugly at the startled looks his entry garnered. 

“Fuck!” D’Artagnan swore, the demon’s appearance taking him completely by surprise. How in the Hell had it gotten inside without them knowing?

“Surely you didn’t think your little toy was going to keep me out, did you? I must admit, it was a surprise last night. Left me a bit... angry. That’s alright, though. I worked most of it out on others. Again.”

“Athos, get out of here,” Porthos said, his eyes fixed on the thing. 

“Yes, Athos,” the demon chuckled before fixing its dark eyes on the man. “You might want to run now.”


	13. Chapter 13

Athos didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the chest off the table and bolted toward the door with d’Artagnan right behind him. The demon might be early but this was their chance. If they were going to trap it, they had to do it now. 

Porthos stood his ground, his eyes locked with the demon’s as the other two hurried past him and out the door. He heard them hit the stairs at a run and felt the first band around his heart loosen. He was pretty sure they could make it to the gym. Then he realized that he still held the book from Constance. Without it, they couldn’t banish this thing. And if the demon found it on him it would know what they were up to.

Porthos waited a heartbeat longer then he took off after his brothers. He heard the demon laugh behind him then he felt more than heard it move. Two flights of stairs had never seemed so long before and he had just reached the bottom when a hand clamped down on his arm.

The snap of bone breaking was loud even over the sound of his panting and he couldn’t bite back a scream as the demon wrenched his broken arm upward. He nearly dropped the book and had to grip it to his chest with is other arm to keep from losing it.

Athos and d’Artagnan had made it to the gym and were laying out the ropes they had prepared when they heard Porthos scream. Athos started toward the sound but d’Artagnan stopped him. “You can’t,” he said. “It’s you it wants.”

D’Artagnan shoved the ropes he was holding into Athos’ hands and ran toward Porthos. He found the pair just coming through the doorway to the gym. The demon was holding onto Porthos’ arm which was bent in a way that it was definitely not meant to. Sweat had broken out all over the bigger man and d’Artagnan could see that he was gripping the book to him with everything that he had left. 

Knowing he had to get it to let go of Porthos before they could do anything else, he pulled the flask of Holy Water from his pocket. He drew back his arm and slashed downward splashing the liquid across Porthos and the demon both.

At the first touch of the liquid, the demon howled, its eyes flashing black. It slung Porthos away from it, inadvertently throwing him into d’Artagnan and sending both of them crashing toward Athos. For long seconds, all it did was stand and writhe, screaming as the Holy Water ate into its skin like acid. 

Athos was at their side in a second. He helped d’Artagnan get Porthos to his feet, taking the book from him and tossing it down next to the chest. They had only just managed it when the demon’s screams suddenly stopped. 

Athos’ eyes shot to it at once and he nearly recoiled at the look of malevolent evil glaring back at him from his lover’s dark eyes. Gone was any trace of Aramis, of his kind nature, of caring and love. There was nothing now but the demon and the evil, black-eyed thing it had created.

“I will make you scream for that, boy,” the demon snarled. 

“No,” Athos said, trying to draw its attention away from d’Artagnan. “I’m the one you want, not him.”

“Oh I’ll be coming for you, too,” the demon said, its face morphing into a sinister smile that promised untold suffering to come. “But first, you get to watch them die screaming and cursing your name.”

“Come on then,” Porthos said, pushing away from the other two with a grunt, his broken arm tucked in tight against his chest. He moved toward the circle hoping to draw it closer. They just had to get it inside. They could worry about subduing it properly once they had managed to trap it. 

“Ooh. Tough, huh? Maybe I won’t kill you quite as quickly as I planned after all,” the demon said as it stalked closer. “Shall I let them watch while I put you on your knees? Hmm? Show them you’re every bit as big a whore as this one is?”

Porthos tried not to react to the thing’s words and took another half step toward the circle. He doubted if the demon had even taken note of it but he still needed to be careful and not draw its attention. Still, it was hard not to react. He had seen the aftermath of its attacks on Aramis and Athos. He knew the level of sadism it was capable of. 

“Tell me,” the demon taunted as it drew closer, “do you think Athos would suck your cock if he thought it might keep me from tearing your arm off completely?”

“That isn’t happening,” Porthos said as firmly as he could while pain rolled through him in one nauseating wave after another. He used his good hand to motion to Athos and d’Artagnan to move back, to put some more space between them and the advancing demon. He felt them hesitate then saw Athos grab d’Artagnan out of the corner of his eye and drag him back a few short feet.

“I don’t believe you’re in a position to decide that,” it continued, grinning widely. If these gnats thought to do battle with it they would quickly learn the folly of such. Oh it was going to enjoy this. It had not taken the time to truly savor a kill in decades. 

“Prove it,” Porthos challenged, his body tensed to spring. 

“My pleasure,” it purred. It hesitated a second longer then lunged forward intent on hearing the big one scream again. 

Porthos had been waiting for its move and dove to the side just out of the thing’s reach. He heard it hiss like an angry cat and spun toward it knowing better than to let it get behind him. He saw its eyes narrow and then flash angrily and he moved back stepping across the border and inside the circle.

The demon snarled when it missed the man, surprised by his speed. It would have thought his injury would have slowed him more. It didn’t matter, though. None of them were leaving this room alive. It saw him move back, trying to put some distance between them and shook its head. There would be no escape.

Porthos stopped inside the circle and waited for the thing to draw close. As soon as it was inside all the way Porthos dove to the side again. The demon was quicker this time, though, and managed to snag his leg. He had a moment to register the steel-like grip then the demon was twisting and a horrible popping sound filled his ears.

Porthos couldn’t help but let out another scream when the demon twisted his leg, dislocating his knee like it was nothing. White-hot pain lanced all up and down his leg and it was all he could do not to be sick on the spot. He could feel its hand continuing to grasp him as if trying to twist his leg off completely and he screamed again before he could stop himself.

“You scream like a bitch,” the demon spat as it started to drag him back toward it.

“Let him go!” D’Artagnan roared. He rushed forward and splashed the demon across the face with the last of the Holy Water he had making it shriek and let go of Porthos as it clawed at its face. He and Athos lunged forward then and grabbed Porthos, dragging him out of the circle while the demon howled and writhed, its eyes flashing blackly over and over again.

Knowing they would not get a better chance, they pulled Porthos clear of the circle then turned back to the demon. D’Artagnan took up the Holy Water from the chest and Athos grabbed the ropes they had prepared. They had been soaking them in the same solution d’Artagnan had used to make the chalk and letting them dry over and over again for the last three days so that the fibers were infused with it. Athos only hoped it was enough to keep the demon bound. They had to be inside the circle if they wanted to banish the thing and they could not do that with the demon free.

With the demon still focused on its own pain, it almost didn’t sense the two men drawing near. As it was, it only saw them when they were nearly upon it. D’Artagnan acted at once, dousing the thing liberally from head to toe and trying not to cringe at the agonized howl it let out. It sounded far too close to Aramis’ voice and it made him ache inside. Athos likewise froze at the demon’s scream before forcing himself to act. He grabbed it around the waist and slung it into the straight-backed wooden chair d’Artagnan quickly drug over. Together, they bound its wrists and elbows to the arms of the chair before moving down and binding its ankles as well. 

“Do you think that will hold it?” Athos asked as they stepped back and surveyed their moaning captive.

“I think so,” d’Artagnan said. He could see where the skin on its arms was already turning red around the ropes from the Holy Water. He only hoped it wasn’t doing too much damage to Aramis but there wasn’t anything to be done for it if it was. They needed the demon restrained and this was the only way they had come up with to do it.

With the demon subdued for now they quickly returned to Porthos and knelt down on either side of him. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and they could see he was hurting badly. From the way his arm was resting they could tell right away it was broken and possibly his leg as well. 

“We need to get you out of here,” Athos said, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

“No,” Porthos said, the pain making his voice gruff.

“Porthos, you’re hurt,” Athos tried to reason.

“You need me,” Porthos said, shaking his head. “I’m not hurt that bad.”

“Your arm is broken as is your leg, most likely,” Athos told him.

“Knee’s just dislocated. I been hurt worse,” Porthos argued. “You need me, Athos.”

“We can do this...”

“I’m not leaving you, brother.” Porthos’ soft words cut Athos off with a start. His eyes widened as he looked at Porthos, the resolve on the man’s face making it clear that he meant what he said. He wasn’t going to leave him to face this alone. He would stand by his side come what may. Athos had no idea what he had done to be worthy of such devotion.

A soft chuckling sound interrupted them, causing all three men to turn and look toward the circle. “So that’s how you did it,” the demon grinned, though its smile held none of its usual cockiness. Instead it more resembled a rictus, giving testament to the lingering pain the thing was still in.

“Guess you missed a brother,” Porthos ground out as he pushed himself into a more or less sitting position. 

“It seems I did,” the demon agreed. “That’s alright. I’ll remedy that soon enough. Dear Athos can watch yet another brother die in front of him.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” d’Artagnan said boldly. 

“Really, boy?” the demon smirked. “You going to stop me?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said.

“Tell me, do they know you lured poor innocent Aramis into that alley for me in order to protect your own family? Do they know you helped me rape him? I mean, you and I both know you could have stopped me if you wanted to, if you tried.”

“Shut up!” D’Artagnan screamed. He stood and started to take a step forward but Athos hand on his arm stopped him.

“Don’t listen to it. It’s nothing but lies and we know it,” Athos said. 

D’Artagnan couldn’t stop himself from flinching at Athos’ words as shame rose thick and cloying within him. He wanted to curl up and die because what the demon said hadn’t been a lie and he knew it. 

“D’Artagnan?” Athos frowned.

“It’s not lying,” he said softly, his eyes glued to the floor entirely unable to look at Athos. “I...”

“You...”

“He made a promise, you see,” the demon said gleefully. “Said he’d do anything as long as I didn’t touch his family. I guess yours wasn’t as important.”

“You bartered Aramis?” Athos asked, his breath coming out in a rush. 

“It was after my sisters!” D’Artagnan cried out, his voice pleading for Athos to understand. “I didn’t know what it was going to do to him. I didn’t know it was going to... to rape him. Athos... Athos, I swear to God...”

The sound of the demon laughing rang in Athos’ ears. He felt his heart turn to ice then white-hot rage began to consume him from the inside out. How could he have traded Aramis for anyone? Aramis had handed himself over to the demon to get this little fucker back and all the while he had actually been helping the demon. 

“Athos, he didn’t have a choice,” Porthos panted, still in a great deal of pain. “You know that. If he did, he’d have gotten that thing out of him a hell of a lot sooner. It tricked him, brother.”

Athos closed his eyes for a minute, taking in Porthos’ words as well as the forlorn look on d’Artagnan’s face. The guilt and shame were plain to see and Athos suddenly felt bad for blaming the boy. He was so young and all he had ever really had was his family. Besides which, Porthos was right. Athos had no doubt that the demon had tricked him, backing him into a corner where he ended up having no choice but to comply. 

“It’s alright. Don’t... don’t listen to it, d’Artagnan,” Athos said, his voice strangled as he fought for control. 

“But... but I...”

“You did what you had to do,” Athos said. “You had no choice, no matter what that thing says. I know that and so does Aramis.”

“Athos...” d’Artagnan began, unsure what to say.

“Help me see to Porthos,” Athos said, trying to focus them back on what they needed to do. 

D’Artagnan nodded jerkily and together they helped move Porthos from the floor into a chair. Athos took out the med kit they had stashed there as well and they did their best to immobilize his broken arm. Athos wasn’t sure what to do about his knee, though. 

“What if I call Constance?” Athos suggested once they were done. “She could take you to the ER, get your arm and leg seen to.”

“I’m not leaving you two here alone with it,” Porthos insisted.

“Porthos, this is going to take days,” Athos whispered. “You can’t wait that long...”

“The arm’s a clean break,” Porthos argued. “Have the kid go up and grab one of the laptops. You can google what to do to pop the knee back in.”

“I can’t relocate your knee,” Athos said, looking sick at the prospect.

“You don’t have a choice,” Porthos said. “I can’t do it myself and the kid... He can’t, Athos. I need you to do this. Alright?”

“D’Artagnan, go up and get one of the fucking computers and be quick about it,” Athos said without taking his eyes off of Porthos. 

By the time d’Artagnan had returned Athos had cut Porthos’ pants leg open up past his knee so he could see what he was working with. Porthos was right, his knee was obviously dislocated and swelling rapidly. Athos had no doubt that it was already quite painful and what he was about to do was only going to make it worse. 

“Find me a video of what I need to do,” Athos said to d’Artagnan once he had rejoined them.

“I could always do it for you,” the demon offered with an air of false helpfulness. “If you only cut me free.”

“Shut up before we gag you,” Porthos said. He was starting to sweat again at the thought of what was to come. He’d dislocated his knee before and knew how painful it was and that was with the edge taken off by a good dose of morphine. 

“And here Athos said you didn’t lean that way,” the demon taunted. “Decide you want a taste of little Aramis, too?”

“Ignore it,” Athos said, refusing to let the thing’s words get to him. 

He watched the video through three times before he was satisfied he understood what he had to do. He felt sick at the thought of hurting Porthos but he knew the alternative was worse. As Porthos had said, he couldn’t fix his own knee and neither could d’Artagnan. 

“Ready?” Athos asked as he took hold of Porthos calf. He waited for Porthos to nod then took a deep breath and began to slowly straighten his leg while putting pressure on the side of his knee. He nearly sagged in relief when he felt the kneecap slip back into place with only a low moan from Porthos and simply held the man’s leg there for a moment while he breathed. 

“Wrap his knee while I hold his leg,” he told d’Artagnan and in no time they had the damaged knee wrapped and his leg resting propped up on another chair. 

“Well done,” the demon said. “I’d applaud but...”

“Fuck you,” Athos said without turning around. He grabbed an ice pack out of the med kit and placed it on Porthos’ knee as well. 

“Now what?” D’Artagnan asked quietly, unsure how they should proceed. They’d had everything planned out but they hadn’t counted on Porthos getting sidelined.

They turned their attention to the demon then and studied it. They were all surprised to find it sweating in the chair. Athos took a step forward, wanting a closer look, and his eyes zeroed in on the ropes binding its arms to the arms of the chair. The skin around the ropes was now dark red as if something hot or possibly caustic had touched it. He started to walk into the circle, intent on getting a closer look, when d’Artagnan grabbed him.

“What are you doing?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Its arms,” Athos said, gesturing toward it. “They look... I don’t know... burned or something.”

“It the ropes,” d’Artagnan said softly. When Athos only looked at him he explained. “The stuff we put on them. It’s burning it.”

“Is Aramis feeling...?”

D’Artagnan looked away, unsure what to say. There was no way to be sure but if he had to guess he would say yes. The demon would never pass up a chance to inflict pain on one of them and it would know that hurting Aramis would hurt them all.

“We have to take them off,” Athos said, horrified at the thought of Aramis being burned like that.

“We can’t,” Porthos said softly from the chair just behind them. “I know it’s hurting him but we can’t let it go. If we do, we’ll never get him back.”

“But...”

“Do you want your lover back alive or not?” Porthos said, pain making his words come out much harsher than he intended.

Athos jerked as if he had been slapped but he didn’t try to move toward the circle again. Porthos was right. More importantly, he knew Aramis would not balk at experiencing a little pain if it meant being free of that thing.

“Kid, get the stuff,” Porthos said. It was time they started getting rid of that demon once and for all. To do that, they needed a few things, the first of which being the book that Constance had procured for them. That was easy enough. The second thing they needed was a bit nastier. 

The ritual Athos had uncovered called for them to feed the demon the same concoction they had used to create the binding circle while placing certain sigils on the host’s body. When Athos had read it, he had been afraid they were going to have to hurt Aramis to do so but Porthos had told him they could simply paint them on with a bit of the blood mixture. 

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” d’Artagnan asked as he set the things they would need down around Porthos’ chair. When they had planned this, they had not counted on one of them being injured this badly. 

“Not like I got a lot of choice,” Porthos replied, keeping a wary eye on the demon as they worked. “That circle won’t hold him forever, I don’t care how much Holy Water we douse those ropes with. Eventually, it’ll break free. We have to act while we can.”

“Are you certain we need blood from both of us, though?” Athos asked, mimicking d’Artagnan’s concern. “Maybe if I…”

“Brother,” Porthos said softly, resting his good hand on Athos’ shoulder. “We have to do this. Both of us. Now come on.”

D’Artagnan added a bit of salt into the bowl then broke a Communion wafer in half and crushed it, adding it to the mix. He poured some Holy Water in next, just enough to wet everything and allow him to mix it. Now all they needed was the blood. 

“Wish Aramis was here,” d’Artagnan muttered then stilled when he realized what he’d said. He looked up and saw the other two looking at him and flushed. “It’s just… he’d know what to do. How to draw the blood with a needle rather than a knife is all.”

“It’s okay, kid. Just make sure you’ve got the incantation all ready to go,” Porthos said.

With Porthos’ arm out of commission, Athos had to do the cutting. He sliced Porthos’ palm as shallowly as he could and quickly thrust the bowl under it to catch the resultant blood. D’Artagnan helped him press a bandage to the wound and then Athos was doing the same to his own hand, wincing at the sting of it as he watched his blood flow across his palm and drip into the bowl to mingle with Porthos’.

“Mix it up good,” d’Artagnan said, holding tight to the book with the incantation they needed. 

Athos nodded and pressed a wad of gauze to his own hand before beginning to stir the contents of the bowl, trying hard not to think about what he was going to have to do next. As Athos stirred, d’Artagnan’s soft, strong voice read the ancient incantation. Athos thought he could feel something, like a buzzing in the air but he ignored it, focusing on the contents of the bowl. He didn’t stop stirring until d’Artagnan finished then he set the spoon down and looked at the demon.

It was all he could do not to take a step back at the depth of evil he saw staring back at him. Athos held his ground, though, refusing to be intimidated. He glanced at d’Artagnan and the younger man nodded his readiness. Together, they stepped into the circle coming to stand on either side of their captive.

“You think a few words from some moldy old book are going to be enough to vanquish me?” the demon said as it looked back and forth between them the smirk never leaving its face.

“Yes,” Athos said evenly. He gave another terse nod and d’Artagnan’s hand shot out to fist in Aramis’ hair. He yanked back hard, jerking the demon’s head back and Athos wasted no time, in forcing its mouth open and tipping the bowl into it. Just as quickly, he slammed its jaw closed refusing to let it spit the blood back out and they held it between them as it writhed in the chair until at last it had no choice but to swallow.

“Oh I will make him pay for that,” the demon panted when they finally stepped back from it. It could feel the blood burning like acid all the way down its throat but it showed no outward sign of it other than its labored breathing. 

“Get the knife,” Athos said, ignoring the thing’s taunts as best he could. He handed the bowl to d’Artagnan and took the knife then moved back beside the demon that was now eyeing him warily. Without a word Athos began to carefully its shirt free until the thing sat in just its pants, its chest and back now bare. 

“Well didn’t this just get interesting,” the demon purred. “Going to show the boy how it’s done? He could use a few pointers, believe me.”

Athos didn’t speak. Instead, he handed the knife back to d’Artagnan and took the bowl once more. Dipping his finger into the now tacky liquid, he began to draw the first sigil on his lover’s possessed body. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“Leave the boy alone,” Aramis told the demon weakly. He was still scrambling to come to grips with what the thing had said about d’Artagnan, about him helping it. He hadn’t realized… He had thought d’Artagnan an unwilling host, a virtual prisoner in his own body. To hear otherwise, to know that he could have stopped what happened in that alley… Not only that, but that he had willingly helped the demon lure him there in the first place. The knowledge had ripped the ground from beneath Aramis’ feet as nothing else had. Not even his rape at the hands of this thing had wounded him as badly as the knowledge that his friend had helped it._

_“Something wrong?” the demon laughed mockingly. “You don’t sound yourself.”_

_“Go to Hell,” Aramis spat, though his words lacked any true fire._

_“Aww. Poor little Aramis. Didn’t even realize his dear friend had thrown him to the wolves to save himself. Or his sisters. Same thing really.”_

_“Shut up,” Aramis moaned, the memories of that night surging to the front in his mind once more._

_“He enjoyed it, too. Hadn’t had his cock sucked in ages. But fucking your mouth, now that he thought was heaven.”_

_“I said shut up!” Aramis yelled, his temper flaring. “You are nothing but lies! He did not enjoy a single thing you did. You raped him as much as you did me in that alley and nothing you say will make me believe otherwise.”_

_“He still helped me do it,” the demon said, switching tracks. “His hands are still dirty. Just like they’re still covered in your grandmother’s blood.”_

_“Leave her out of this,” Aramis bristled._

_“Oh but you would have been so proud of her,” it taunted. “She really stood up to me. Defiant until the very end. So sure her grandson would defeat me. Looks like she was wrong about that, too.”_

_“What?” Aramis whispered, shock again stealing his strength._

_“You should have seen the regret in her eyes knowing she was going to die without ever getting the chance to make things right with you. It was almost as sweet as coming down your throat.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Athos wasn’t sure what he had expected. Something other than this complete lack of reaction certainly. He glanced over his shoulder at Porthos and saw the frown creasing his brow. He had expected something different as well it seemed. 

Without a word Athos stepped back out of the circle pulling d’Artagnan along with him. The ritual had to be repeated every six hours until all twelve sigils were in place. The twelfth and final sigil would be the one to drive the demon out, destroying it at last. In the meantime, it was going to be a very long seventy-two hours. 

“So now what?” d’Artagnan asked once they had rejoined Porthos.

“Now we set an alarm for six hours from now, get comfortable and wait,” Porthos said. 

They set the alarm then Athos sent d’Artagnan upstairs telling him to bring down their sleeping bags and pillows. While he was gone, he drug three of the gym mats over and laid them out. He piled two of them on top of each other for Porthos, wanting to cushion his injures as much as possible and left the other one for him and d’Artagnan to share. It wasn’t much but it was better than trying to rest on the hard concrete. 

When d’Artagnan returned, they spread out one of the sleeping bags over Porthos’ makeshift bed then the two men carefully helped him onto it from the chair. By the time they had him settled, he was sweating again and a fine tremor ran through his big frame.

“I brought some painkillers down, too,” d’Artagnan said as he fished them out of his pocket.

“Can’t,” Porthos said, shaking his head.

“You’re in pain,” Athos replied.

“And we don’t know what affect polluting my blood with that might have,” Porthos said. “We can’t chance it. I’ll be okay in a few minutes. It’s already easing off.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Athos asked, his voice slightly desperate. “I could go get the bourbon. Surely that would be out of your system in six hours.”

“Yeah it would but I don’t want to chance it. We need to stay sharp. We can’t afford to make any more mistakes.”

They didn’t like it but they knew Porthos was right. As it was, they had not thought about food. While the gym had plenty of water, there was nothing down there to eat, which meant separating yet again to get provisions. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The demon watched them, licking its lips as the boy dutifully left. Its eyes glittered blackly as it looked back and forth between Athos and Porthos unsure which of them it wanted to hurt more at the moment. Tormenting the Survivor was always delicious but it had yet to test the darker one. Surely finding out that he had a half-brother was unsettling to say the least. Perhaps it was time to find out.

“Does it make you angry, Porthos?” the demon asked suddenly. When Porthos failed to answer it pressed on. “I know it would make me angry to suddenly discover I had a brother. And a wealthy one at that. Can you even imagine how much easier your life would have been had you had even a fraction of the money he did?”

Athos went still at the demon’s words, his eyes cutting to Porthos before he could stop himself. It was not as if he had not thought the very same thing himself but he did not know just how much such things weighed on Porthos’... his brother’s... mind.

“If you think you’re going to drive a wedge between us that way, you’re wrong,” Porthos replied, refusing to rise to the bait.

“Really? Well. If you don’t want to talk about your brother, perhaps we could discuss your mother. She was quite the whore, wasn’t she? Spreading her legs for Athos’ father knowing he was married. How many other men like him do you think she let bend her over?”

Athos felt Porthos go still next to him but he man said nothing, holding his tongue and refusing to play the demon’s game. A glance toward the man showed him to look as calm as ever, save for his tightly clenched fist. Athos only wished he could say the same for himself. 

The demon was a bit surprised when the big man didn’t react but it could see the first crack in him and pressed on. “No matter how many rich men she whored herself to she never did manage to claw her way out of the gutter, though. Maybe she wasn’t that good a fuck after all.”

“Shut your mouth!” Athos suddenly roared. He sprang up from beside Porthos and took a step toward the circle and the smirking demon intent on shutting the foul thing’s mouth for it. 

“Athos,” Porthos said softly, stopping the man mid-stride. “Sit back down.”

“What?” Athos gasped, spinning around to stare at the other man.

“Sit back down,” Porthos said again just as calmly. 

“It...” 

“It’s playing you,” Porthos told him gently. “It’s trying to make you react. Don’t give it the satisfaction.”

Reluctantly, Athos sat back down on the mats beside his friend. He glared at the demon still aching to wipe the smirk off its face. Porthos didn’t want him to, though, and he would not go against his wishes. Not in this.

“I’m sorry,” Athos said after a minute. 

“For what?” Porthos asked. His eyes were firmly on his brother, refusing to even look at the demon. He knew if he did, it would see just how much its words had affected him. 

“It had no right to talk about your mother like that,” Athos said, a flush of shame staining his cheeks. 

“You got nothing to apologize for. It’s a demon, Athos. If it sees a weakness it’s going to exploit it. It thinks it can get between us by pissing me off about your dad. Truth is, I am pissed about him but I’m not pissed at you.”

“I wish I had some explanation I could give you, some reason for it. Why they did it... why they hid it...”

“I know,” Porthos said as he reached out and squeezed Athos’ shoulder with his good hand. “But the fact is we don’t know and we’re probably never going to. Maybe they had a reason they didn’t want anyone to know I was his kid.”

“You don’t think one of them knew? About the demon, I mean,” Athos said, his eyes going wide at the thought.

“I want to say no, but there had to be a reason for it and I don’t really see your old man as the kind of guy to shirk his responsibilities. I mean you wouldn’t and the guy raised you so...”

Athos took in Porthos’ words letting them run through his head. It was... a nice thought, but now was not the time and place for it. Right now, they had much more important things to worry about. Sliding over, Athos leaned in close to Porthos.

“Porthos,” he whispered, “why didn’t it react to the sigil?”

“I don’t know,” Porthos whispered back. “Maybe it did, it just wasn’t enough for us to notice.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I want to,” Porthos replied. 

“What do we do if this doesn’t work?”

“What’s going on?” D’Artagnan asked as he walked in and saw the men whispering to each other.

“Hush now, little boy,” the demon admonished, smirking widely. “The grown-ups are talking.”

D’Artagnan stiffened, his eyes widening. The two men looked up from their conversation and Athos glared at the demon making the thing chuckle.

“Come here, kid,” Porthos said. “I’m starving.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All three of them started when the alarm for the second sigil went off. They didn’t speak as d’Artagnan prepared the bowl and Athos retrieved the knife. Once the bowl was ready, he went to Porthos who simply held out his arm to him. 

Athos tried to keep the cut shallow not wanting to spill any more of Porthos’ blood than was necessary. They still had a lot of cuts to go and Porthos was already hurting. With Porthos’ blood in the bowl, he quickly added his own and began mixing it as d’Artagnan recited the incantation once more. 

The demon knew what to expect this time and did its best to keep its mouth sealed shut. A face full of Holy Water had it gasping and crying out. It was the opening Athos needed and he quickly tipped the contents of the bowl into its mouth before clamping it shut. 

Athos didn’t release it until he was sure it had swallowed the mixture. When he did he saw the demon glaring at him hotly but beneath its rage Athos thought he detected a hint of something else, something that looked like pain. Hope flared in him and Athos quickly began to paint the second sigil on Aramis’ chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

D’Artagnan lay awake, unable to sleep. He could tell they were beginning to wear the demon down, its struggles growing weaker each time they poured the blood mixture down its throat. That was good because they needed the hope. They needed to still believe they were going to get Aramis back. Without that, none of this was worth it, not to him. 

Knowing he was not going to get back to sleep and not wanting his restlessness to disturb Athos, he carefully slid out of their makeshift bed. Slowly, he approached the demon, hoping to find some sign of Aramis. They had not seen so much as a glimpse of him since they began and it was starting to worry him.

As he drew near, the demon didn’t react. D’Artagnan didn’t know if it was sleeping, conserving its strength or just trying to fake him out. Whatever it was, he knew better than to get too close and stayed out of arm’s reach of the thing. 

Walking around it, he examined it as closely as he could. What he saw made him want to rush forward. Only the knowledge that he would likely be playing right into the demon’s hands stopped him. Aramis’ eyes looked sunken, even in sleep. He was pale, too. Much paler than he had ever seen the man before. He recalled what Porthos had told him about Sylvie and his hands tightened in anger. The demon was siphoning off Aramis’ life force. It was feeding off of him to sustain itself. And the more they tried to destroy it, the more of Aramis’ life force it would drain. 

Not for the first time d’Artagnan found himself wishing Aramis had not traded himself for his release. He understood now that the demon had been draining him as well. That had most likely been what had prompted Aramis to act. Still, he wished he hadn’t. Better to have died at the demon’s hands than to be forced to watch his friend do so in his place. 

How was he supposed to live with that, he asked himself. And how was he supposed to look Athos in the eyes ever again? Assuming that Athos didn’t just follow Aramis into the grave, of course. Aramis was his whole life. Athos’ world revolved around the man. D’Artagnan could not imagine him trying to go on without him. 

His heart twisted painfully at the thought of losing the two men and he could not stop the tears that filled his eyes. He loved Aramis. He could admit that now, to himself if no one else. But he loved Athos and Porthos, too. Maybe not in the same way, but he did love them. Thinking of Porthos, d’Artagnan felt another wave of guilt wash over him and threaten to pull him under. Porthos, who had only just found his brother… it would be his fault of he lost him. 

D’Artagnan felt the tears he had tried to hold back begin to slowly roll down his cheeks. He bit his lip to keep from making any noise, not wanting to wake the others. He thought about offering to take Aramis’ place but to do that he would have to release the demon from the circle and there was no guarantee that once free the demon would honor their deal. 

He was on the verge of moving closer to try to get a better look at his friend. The demon had not stirred as he had stood there and he thought it might be safe to chance it. He never got the opportunity, though, as the alarm suddenly blared to life making him cry out and jump back. 

Athos and Porthos came awake with a start, the latter groaning as pain flared to life in his injured arm. He felt a sudden wave of nausea but fought it down. He knew if he started throwing up that Athos would insist on taking him to the hospital and that was out of the question. Athos had tried to get him to let him call his doctor but Porthos refused. There was no point. He doubted the man could put a cast on for him and he wasn’t going to risk taking anything for the pain. Besides, if he did come they would have to move him upstairs, or come up with some way to explain Aramis being tied to a chair, and Porthos wasn’t at all sure he could make the trip. Not without passing out on them. 

“You okay?” Athos whispered to him, not wanting to draw the demon’s attention. Porthos nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak yet and Athos turned to d’Artagnan. What he saw made him frown. 

“D’Artagnan, what’s wrong?” he asked as he caught him scrubbing at his reddened face. If Athos didn’t know better, he’d think he’d been crying. Then again, Athos thought, maybe he had been.

“Nothing,” d’Artagnan said quickly. 

“Charlie…”

“It’s nothing, Athos. I’m fine. Really,” d’Artagnan said, his voice pleading for the man to let it go. 

“Alright,” Athos said reluctantly. “Get the bowl ready.”

D’Artagnan started to do as Athos said then stopped. He looked at the demon again and once more felt his heart twist. Did they not realize what they were doing to Aramis in all this?

“Kid?” Porthos called, frowning at his hesitancy. 

“Can’t you see it?” d’Artagnan asked, his voice breaking.

“See what?” Porthos asked.

“What we’re doing to him,” he replied.

Athos and Porthos both looked at the demon then. They took in the dark smudges under its sunken eyes, the sallow skin, the way even now it seemed to pant as if in pain. Athos had to swallow against the sudden flood of bile in his throat as his expression morphed from surprise to horror.

“What…”

“It’s draining him,” d’Artagnan said softly. “To stay alive. Like it was doing to me. Like… like it did to the cat.”

“We have to stop,” Athos said, his eyes wide with fear. 

“We can’t,” Porthos said as calmly as he could though inside he was anything but. 

“It’s killing him!” Athos said angrily.

“And it will kill him for sure if we let it go,” Porthos shot back. “His only chance is us. And…”

“And what?” Athos snarled.

“And Aramis would rather go out fighting than simply letting that thing ride him into the ground.”

“I can’t lose him,” Athos said weakly as tears threatened to choke him.

“I know, brother,” Porthos said gently. “God willing, you won’t. But we have to see this through.”

Athos nodded jerkily and scrubbed at his face. “Get… get the bowl, d’Artagnan,” he managed after a minute. 

Without another word d’Artagnan picked up the bowl and began preparing the mixture. He thought he saw the demon watching them from beneath Aramis’ lank hair but he looked away before he could be sure. He didn’t know if that was a good sign or not but at least the thing was no longer able to pretend its indifference to what they were doing.

Once the blood was added to the bowl Athos and d’Artagnan entered the circle. This marked the half-way point, the sixth sigil. When Athos slid his hand into Aramis’ hair this time, he did so much more gently than he had before, aware now of the toll this was taking on his lover. He was surprised when the demon didn’t seem to fight him at all, allowing him to pull his head back. Looking down into its eyes, he saw a flash of genuine fear before the demon could mask it and felt a surge of hope.

“Please,” the demon whispered as Athos brought the bowl to its lips. 

Athos’ eyes widened in shock and he saw the demon clamp its mouth shut almost angrily, as if the word had escaped it unintentionally. He glanced at d’Artagnan and saw the wild hope that he could not hide and nodded toward it. 

Shaking himself out of his stupor, d’Artagnan took hold of the demon’s jaw. Like Athos, he was surprised at how easier it was to pry its mouth open and in no time they were tipping the bowl into it and clamping it closed once more. 

Athos had to force himself not to let go when the demon began to moan, a trickle of blood running from its nose. They were hurting it, that much was certain. He only hoped the damage they were doing to Aramis was not as great.

When they finally released its mouth, Athos took up the bowl again. The demon’s chest and shoulders were covered in sigils but Athos had left the place over its heart bare. Dipping his fingers into the blood, he began to paint the sixth sigil there.

“Stop… please…” the demon moaned again. 

Athos hardened his heart to its pleas refusing to let himself be swayed. He couldn’t. Not if he wanted his lover back. He told himself this was likely a ruse of the thing’s anyway. It was simply playing with him, trying to use his feelings for Aramis to weaken his resolve.

“Fine then,” the demon said, its voice suddenly hardening. 

As Athos finished the sigil and stepped back the demon looked up at him through the fringe of Aramis’ hair. It smiled its best shark’s smile then closed its eyes. A moment later blood began to run down its arms as cuts began to appear.

“What the hell?” Porthos muttered staring at the demon in horror.

“Stop it!” Athos told it angrily. 

“Make me,” the demon said, its eyes still closed in concentration.

“Athos?” d’Artagnan queried, horrified.

“It… it did this before,” Athos said feeling sick. “To make me… to make me…”

“Get away from it,” Porthos told them, his voice tight with anger. “Back over here. Both of you.”

“But…” d’Artagnan began.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Porthos said. 

Reluctantly d’Artagnan obeyed. He looked back at the demon once he had moved back to Porthos side and what he saw made him gasp. The cuts running down Aramis’ arms weren’t just random slashes. They were words. 

“Don’t look at it,” Athos said softly, his own eyes riveted to the thing. The bloody words stood out against Aramis’ too pale skin, running down the length of both arms, **ATHOS** running down his right and **WHORE** running down his left. The sight of them made him angry, sick and helpless all at once.

“Hey,” Porthos said, trying to snap the other two out of their despair. “Don’t you get it?”

“Get what?” Athos shot back. “That it’s torturing Aramis…”

“That we’re winning,” Porthos broke in. “It’s worried and it’s starting to get scared.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“They are going to destroy you,” Aramis told the demon triumphantly. “It is only a matter of time.”_

_“You give them more credit than you should,” the demon replied mockingly. The pain of the sigil was burning through it, like a brand slowly searing its way to its core. It refused to allow the Priest to see it, though. It was not giving up its prize no matter what they did to it. It would drag this one screaming to Hell before it let him go._

_“Really?” Aramis insisted. “I can feel your pain, demon.” He could, too. He could feel the pain that the demon tried to hide, could feel how much of a toll this was taking on it. He felt hope blossom within him. He might not make it through this but the demon would not either. That was good enough for him._

_“You have no idea what pain is,” the demon snarled. “Neither does your precious Athos. You will, though. You both will.”_

_“Do your worst. It will make no difference. In the end, they will destroy you.”_

_“Not without destroying you as well. I promise you, I will kill you before I relinquish my hold on you. Your lover is never getting you back.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the hours wore on and each sigil was laid down their exhaustion began to show. They took comfort in the fact that it was showing equally if not more so on the demon. It was growing noticeably weaker, mewling in pain with each new sigil, barely able to resist as they poured the blood mixture down its throat. 

Only three more to go, Athos told himself after painting the latest sigil on Aramis’ shoulder. He had felt the demon shudder under his hands and had to harden his heart to its pain. He knew Aramis was still in there, knew his lover was feeling every bit of this agony, but he also knew that he would not have them stop no matter how much pain it caused him. He was walking away when he heard a muffled groan from behind him. 

“A-A-Athos...” Aramis called out weakly, panting against the pain.

“Aramis?” Athos whispered, spinning around. He knew right away that this was Aramis calling out to him and not another trick of the demon. He was at his side in a second, all caution forgotten. “Aramis? Is it really you?”

“Athos... Athos... don’t... don’t stop. Whatever you do... don’t... don’t stop...”

Suddenly, a violent shudder wracked Aramis then the demon was looking out of Aramis’ eyes once more, glaring hotly at Athos. “I will rend the flesh from his bones,” the demon snarled, its chest heaving. “You will watch him die screaming, I swear it.”

Athos stared at the demon, the malevolent glare in its eyes unmistakable.  He took a step back as a wave of white-hot anger washed over him.  He wanted his lover back, damn it!  Aramis had done nothing to deserve such suffering.  If anyone should be made to suffer it should be him, not Aramis.  He saw the demon start to grin as if it had read his mind and was amused.  Such continued gloating by the thing was more than Athos could take.  With a snarl he whirled around until his eyes lit on the pail of Holy Water sitting tucked away against the wall.  Without another thought, he strode to it, his anger turning to blinding rage.  The demon thought to threaten him?  Athos would show it that he understood about pain, too.  
   
Picking up the pail, Athos walked back into the circle with deliberate slowness.  He stopped a foot in front of the demon and simply stared at it.  He could see the anger in its eyes and knew if it could only free itself that it would gladly slaughter them all.  "I see now we've been too careful with you," Athos said as he paced back and forth in front of it, the pail held in his hands.  "We've been trying not to do anything that might hurt Aramis.  There's really no way to help that though, is there?  Even if what we're doing doesn't end up hurting him you will anyway."  
   
"How very astute," the demon smirked.  "Hurt me and you hurt him.  Don't hurt me and... well... I hurt him anyway."  
   
"I know," Athos said gripping the pail tightly.  "That's why I'm not going to worry about hurting you anymore."  His eyes locked on those of the demon, he splashed the contents of the pail over it, soaking it liberally in Holy Water, careful not to accidentally wash the sigils from it.  As soon as the liquid hit it, it began to howl and thrash, the blessed water burning it like acid.  Smoke began to rise up from it as it screamed, shrieking its pain at the top of its lungs.  Athos, for his part, didn't react.  He only stood there, watching, as the demon writhed and screamed in its bonds.   
   
"What the fuck!" Porthos yelled as he came awake with a jerk.  He took in the sight of the demon thrashing and smoking in the chair while Athos just stood there watching it and felt a bolt of fear lance through him.  At the sight of the empty pail hanging from Athos' hand, he realized what had happened and couldn't stop himself from shuddering.   
   
"Porthos, what happened?" D'Artagnan asked as he came to kneel beside Porthos.  
   
"From what I can see, looks like Athos doused him in Holy Water," Porthos said, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.  "Kid, see if you can get him to come back over here."  
   
"What about...?" d'Artagnan asked gesturing toward the demon.  
   
"I'm not worried about the demon right now.  It's Athos we need to worry about." Porthos turned his attention to Athos then and set his jaw in a grim line. Athos was still standing in front of the demon, his chest heaving as he stared at the thing. Porthos didn’t know what had brought this on but whatever it was, it had to be bad.

“Athos,” Porthos called carefully. “Come back, brother. Come back with me and d’Artagnan.”

“It means to kill him,” Athos said without turning around.

“We’re not going to let that happen,” Porthos said. 

“How are we going to stop it?” Athos asked. He turned then tossing the pail aside to clatter noisily along the floor. 

“Come here, brother,” Porthos said again, reaching a hand toward the man. He breathed a sigh of relief when Athos actually came over to him. As soon as he could reach him, he took him by the hand and pulled him down onto the mat beside him, being careful not to wince as his leg was jostled. 

“How are we going to stop it?” Athos asked again, his voice soft and pleading this time.

“We’ll find a way,” Porthos said. 

“It’s getting weaker,” d’Artagnan put in as he came over to join the pair. “And desperate. It’s trying to scare you to make you back off. You can’t let it.”

“I can’t lose him,” Athos said. “I can’t bury my lover. I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Porthos told him as surely as he could manage. He only hoped he did not end up being made a liar. But they needed Athos if they were going to end this and they needed him strong. 

They sat like that, huddled together on Porthos’ makeshift bed, for a while. They were all scared, though they refused to admit it aloud. Their actions might be taking a toll on the demon but they knew they were taking an equal if not greater toll on Aramis and it was getting harder to simply stand by and watch their friend suffer.

As he watched the demon, d’Artagnan expected to see the haze of smoke from the Holy Water start to dissipate. When it began to grow thicker instead, d’Artagnan sat up, his eyes going wide in alarm.

“What is it?” Porthos asked, almost afraid to.

“It’s still… still smoking,” d’Artagnan choked out.

“What?” Athos gasped, his eyes cutting to the demon at once. 

“I think… I think it’s his clothes… the pants. They’re soaked through. The Holy Water, it’s still burning him,” d’Artagnan stammered.

“We need to get them off him,” Athos said. “Now.” He grabbed the knife they had been using and hurried to the demon’s side. Dropping to his knees beside the chair, he began cutting up the side of Aramis’ pant leg. He dimly registered d’Artagnan doing the same on the other side then his attention was once more fully focused on the task at hand.

“Oh, in such a hurry to get me naked,” the demon panted, its pain evident. “How nice. And here Aramis thought the boy didn’t really want him _that way_.”

“Shut up,” Athos said without looking up. He had cut all the way up to the waist band and waited for d’Artagnan to do the same.

For his part, d’Artagnan did his best to touch Aramis as little as possible as he quickly cut the leg of his pants open. He felt a blush stain his cheeks for his friend’s sake and held his eyes firmly down. Once he had cut through both pants and underwear he nodded to Athos and moved back.

Athos quickly pulled the top portion of Aramis’ sodden clothes off him and tossed them aside. The move left the man bared to everyone in the room but Athos didn’t care. He could see how red his skin was from the prolonged contact, especially around his groin. Taking the other half of his pants, he began to gently work them out from under him. Once he had them free he tossed them aside as well and stepped back out of the circle.

“Well I must say I never took you as the sort to share,” the demon taunted, its eyes glittering in amusement. It saw how uncomfortable the boy looked and zeroed in on him. “Come now, d’Artagnan, don’t be shy. We all know you want him. Even Aramis knows it, he just pretends he doesn’t for Athos’ sake. But sucking you off in that alley, well… let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

“I told you to shut up,” Athos said again.

“Or what?” the demon challenged.

“Or this,” Athos replied. He reached into his pocket and took out the talisman that Porthos’d had made from Aramis’ rosary. Rising, he walked over to the ruined clothes he had tossed aside and pulled out Aramis’ sodden shorts. He wrapped the talisman in them then walked back over to the demon. 

Athos stood there for a minute staring down at the thing wearing his lover’s face. He saw the challenge in its eyes, the belief that there was nothing he could, or would, do. Gripping the talisman tightly in one hand, his other shot out and grabbed the demon’s face, squeezing it hard and forcing it to open its mouth. 

Before it could realize what was going on, Athos shoved the talisman wrapped in the Holy Water soaked remnants of Aramis’ shorts into the thing’s mouth. He saw its eyes widen in comprehension and quickly clamped both hands over its mouth, virtually wrapping his arms around its head, so it couldn’t spit the impromptu gag out. 

The demon felt the inside of its mouth burning as if a ball of fire had been shoved inside of it. It began to thrash in its bounds, trying to shake Athos off. The man clung to him determinedly, refusing to let him spit out the horrid wad and it began to shriek, the sound muffled by the wet cloth filling its mouth.

Porthos and d’Artagnan watched in horror as Athos shoved _something_ into the demon’s mouth then wrapped his arms around it so it couldn’t spit it out. Though they hadn’t been able to see what it was, Porthos had an idea and it made him shudder to think of Athos even able to do such a thing. From the way the demon was fighting him and the pitiable sounds it was making it was clear the thing was in agony yet Athos hung on.

“Athos... Athos, let it go,” d’Artagnan said, unable to watch any longer. The sounds from the thing were bad enough but the look in its eyes was more than he could bear. “Athos... please...”

Athos held on for a few seconds longer then released it and stepped away. He was surprised when the demon didn’t spit the gag out right away but only coughed weakly. It took the thing a few tried but it finally managed to dislodge the gag, spitting it into its lap with a weak moan. Snatching it back, Athos moved back over to the others confident that his point had been made.

No one said anything as they watched the demon coughing and trembling, a low keening moan falling steadily from its lips. As he watched the demon, Porthos couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting over to Athos. He was sitting down beside him, running the talisman through his fingers again and again. 

“Athos,” Porthos began then fell silent. He wasn’t at all sure what to say. Athos was starting to lose it, the stress and fear taking more of a toll on him than they had anticipated. Still, if they didn’t find a way to draw him back to them then there was a very good chance even if they did get Aramis back, they would end up losing Athos.

“Don’t bother,” Athos said dully.

“Brother, I know...” Porthos began but Athos cut him off angrily. 

“You know nothing,” Athos spat. “It isn’t your entire world strapped to that chair. It isn’t your lover you are being forced to... to torture. To make scream and bleed and beg. You don’t understand. Neither of you do.”

“Yes, I do,” d’Artagnan said softly, his eyes never leaving the demon’s still trembling form.

“Kid?” Porthos said. He had heard Athos draw in a sharp breath but the man said nothing.

“I love you guys, you know I do. But he means everything to me. I’ve never had... what I have with him... the thought of losing that... of losing him... it terrifies me.”

“D’Artagnan...” Athos whispered, his eyes going wide as he looked at the younger man.

“I know he is not my lover and he never will be,” d’Artagnan said, the tiniest hint of sadness in his voice. “But he is still everything to me. And he would not even be here right now if not for me. I know you are hurting, Athos. Because that pain you feel, that knife that keeps twisting in your heart over and over again, it twists in mine, too.”

“Come here,” Athos said his voice strangled as he held his arm out to d’Artagnan. “Please, Charlie, come over here.”

D’Artagnan hesitated a moment then moved over to Athos. As soon as he was close enough, Athos leaned forward and took his hand. He pulled him down onto the mat between him and Porthos. As soon as d’Artagnan was settled between them Athos wrapped him in his arms and held him. He felt him hesitate and then d’Artagnan’s arms were wrapped around his waist holding onto him as tightly as he could.

“I’m sorry,” Athos whispered making sure to speak loud enough for Porthos to hear as well. “I shouldn’t have lost it like that.”

“It’s okay, man,” d’Artagnan said as he turned his head and let it rest against Athos’ chest. “Just don’t think you’re the only one that’s hurting here. We’re hurting, too. So let us help you, okay?”

“Okay,” Athos agreed, willing to agree to just about anything the young man asked at the moment. “I know how much he means to you. I know you love him. He loves you, too. He loves you very much. Don’t ever doubt that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“Well that was unexpected,” the demon panted._

_“I told you they were strong,” Aramis replied, trying not to show how unsettled he was by Athos’ actions. It was the opposite of anything he would have expected from his lover. In fact, had he not been present for it, he would have thought such harshness outside the realm of Athos’ ability._

_“I think your lover scared his friends,” the demon said, trying a new tactic._

_“They do not fear Athos,” Aramis shook his head._

_“Really? Because it looked like...”_

_“They fear for him,” Aramis said, cutting it off. “They fear what all of this is doing to him but they do not fear him. You will not break them this way either.”_

_“So it would seem,” the demon chuckled causing Aramis to frown in confusion._

_“What’s so funny?”_

_“Look at them,” the demon said, grinning widely now. It waited for Aramis to do so and nearly cackled at his subtle flinch. “They do look rather cozy, don’t they? And they both love you so much.”_

_“Stop it,” Aramis said._

_“Perhaps they’ll turn to each other,” the demon continued as it picked and prodded at Aramis’ psyche, looking for any opening it could use to hurt him more. “Tell me, do you think Athos will fuck him right here?”_

_“Athos doesn’t want him that way,” Aramis said though his words were lacking in conviction._

_“Sure looks like he does from here.”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They stayed like that, barely moving, until it was time for the next sigil. Porthos had really been worried about Athos but d’Artagnan seemed to get through to him and somehow pull him out of himself and back to them.

The demon was still moaning softly when they approached it with the bowl. It tried to shrink back from them, tugging weakly at its bonds but they would not give. “Athos... Athos, please...” it begged, its voice coming out strained and broken. 

Athos found himself pausing at the demon’s plea. He knew instinctively that this was still the demon talking but there was something about its tone that gave him pause. One thing was certain, they were definitely wearing it down.

Hardening his heart, Athos forced its jaw open and tipped the bowl into it. He was surprised to find himself being much gentler this time, only holding its mouth closed rather than clamping down hard enough to bruise. 

Once the demon had swallowed, Athos stepped back and gave it a moment to breathe before taking the bowl and moving behind it. Dipping his fingers into the blood, he felt the demon shudder under his touch as he began to paint. Suddenly, blood began to well up as if the sigil he was painting in place was cutting into him. With a grimace, he continued painting, knowing they had to get the sigil in place.

By the time Athos was finished, all of the sigils were bleeding. It left the demon’s chest and back covered in rivulets of blood. For the first time, Athos actually found himself wanting to comfort the thing, unsure if it was doing this on purpose or if this was simply more proof that their efforts were working.

“I’m sorry,” Athos whispered softly then stepped back out of the circle once more. He all but collapsed on the mat next to Porthos and d’Artagnan, utterly spent. “Please tell me this is a good sign, that we are weakening it.”

“It is,” Porthos said at once. “If it’s real. It could just be more smoke and mirrors by the demon. It’ll do anything to make you feel sorry for it, to make you think you’re hurting Aramis so you’ll back off.”

“I know,” Athos said, running his hand through his hair tiredly. “I know we can’t let up. Not when we are finally getting close. It’s.... hard... though. To see him like this is...”

“I know, brother,” Porthos said. “Ah, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Athos sighed. “I did not mean what I said before. I let my anger and frustration get the better of me.”

“It’s alright. I understand. If it was me, I’d have lost it long before now.”

“Any idea what else we can expect?” Athos asked.

“At this point? Not really.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short but I wanted to get it posted.
> 
> Thanks Snow_Glory for all the help!!

When the alarm went off for the next sigil, Athos grimaced. He consoled himself with the knowledge that, after this one, they only had one more to go. Still, it was getting harder to force himself to go on. 

The demon sat slumped in the chair, the ropes binding it the only thing holding it up. D’Artagnan had tried to give it some water, worried for how gaunt and unresponsive it was becoming. It was all for nothing, though, as the demon vomited it back up almost as soon as it had swallowed it down. It had moaned and dry heaved for long minutes afterward and d’Artagnan had not tried to give it anything since. 

“Good thing this is almost done,” Porthos said as Athos sliced into his arm. “I’m almost out of arm space.”

“Me, too,” Athos said, smiling wryly. This needed to end for all of their sakes.

With some degree of reluctance, Athos and d’Artagnan moved into the circle. Athos slid his hand into the demon’s lank hair and gently lifted its head. He brought the bowl to its lips, surprised when it opened its mouth without prodding. He had a second to think that was a good sign before all Hell broke loose.

With a snarl of rage, the demon jerked its head free of Athos’ grip. It twisted and thrashed, knocking the bowl from Athos’ hands as it writhed and struggled in its bonds. Athos dove after it desperately, catching the bowl just before it hit the ground and shattered. He set it down with shaking hands and took a moment to simply breathe.

“Athos!” Porthos shouted in alarm causing him to jerk around. What he saw made his blood turn to ice. D’Artagnan was struggling with the demon who had managed to get one arm free somehow. He was trying to subdue it but even now he was no match for its preternatural strength. 

Athos rushed toward the pair throwing himself bodily across the chair to try to hold the demon down. “Get the rope!” he shouted at d’Artagnan as he tried to keep from being bucked off. 

“No!” the demon snarled as it tried to claw Athos off of its lap with one hand. Its decimated body was proving a hinderance, too weak to throw the man off as it normally would have been able to. 

“Hurry up!” Athos yelled as he fought to hold on. The demon was writhing and bucking beneath him like a wild thing and it was all he could do to keep from being thrown off.

Snarling and spitting, the demon continued to fight, desperate to keep them from binding it again. It could feel the boy beside them struggling with the ropes as it fought against Athos’ hold. All of a sudden, it cried out in denial as that horrible burning was back, its arm was once more bound in place. 

D’Artagnan quickly began untying the rope that was still attached to the chair. Finally freeing it, he began lashing it around the thing’s forearm, pulling it tight as they forced its arm back down against the chair. 

By the time they had managed to restrain it all of them were panting from the exertion. They quickly checked the other ropes and found them all to be loose. They realized sickeningly that the demon had been siphoning off more and more of Aramis’ essence in order to fight them and they had not noticed how badly the man’s body was wasting away.

“I will make him pay for that,” the demon panted. “He grows weaker with every passing second. If you do not stop this madness, you will destroy him. Tell me, Athos, is all of this effort worth the corpse you will end up rewarded with?”

“We are going to destroy you,” Athos told it, ignoring its taunts. “And nothing you say can stop us.”

With the demon bound once more Athos grabbed the bowl up from the floor. This time when he slid his hand into its hair he was not gentle. He jerked the thing’s head back hard enough to make its neck crack. He saw d’Artagnan wince at the sound but ignored him as he poured the blood into its gasping mouth. That done, he quickly painted on the eleventh sigil, ignoring the way the thing shuddered and moaned with every stroke of his fingers. 

It took everything in Athos to set the bowl back down on the floor rather than throwing it across the room. Without looking back, he turned and headed for the door. He wasn’t leaving but he needed some space to try to get his wayward emotions back under control.

Heading out the door, he sat down on the stairs and dropped his head in his hands. He heard d’Artagnan try to follow him but Porthos stopped him. He was grateful. The kid was upset enough without him adding to it and he knew the tears running down his face would do just that. 

For a long time Athos simply sat there on the cold stairs letting the tears he could no longer keep hidden pour out of him. He shoved his fist into his mouth to keep his sobs from escaping, not wanting to draw the others’ attention. He felt like he was somehow made of glass, glass that had been irreparably shattered so that the jagged edges cut into him with every breath. Finally, when his tears were spent, he rose on shaky legs and headed back to where the others waited.

“Are you alright?” Porthos asked when Athos rejoined them once more. For his part, he was flushed and sweating, his arm and knee still throbbing painfully from his own attempt to somehow get to the demon. 

“Yes,” Athos said wearily. He looked at the man then and quirked his eyebrow. “You don’t look so good, though.”

“Just moved too quick,” Porthos said, dismissing his own pain. He knew it would settle down soon enough.

“Kid?” Porthos asked when d’Artagnan remained silent.

“I’m okay,” he replied softly. His eyes were glued to the man strapped down in the middle of the circle. This was killing Aramis. He didn’t understand how the others couldn’t see that. 

“It’s almost over,” Athos said taking his hand and squeezing it. “One way or the other, it’s almost over.” 

After that, they settled in to try to get some sleep. With the final sigil coming up they knew they would need all of their strength. As the demon had just showed them, it wasn’t going down without a fight.

D’Artagnan wasn’t sure what woke him. Glancing at the clock he saw that there was still two hours to go before the final sigil. He looked over at the demon checking to see if it had woken him but it merely sat slumped in the chair, the ropes once again the only thing holding it up.

“Hey kid,” Porthos said softly. He had been unable to sleep, the upcoming battle keeping him from being able to find any rest. At first, he had watched Athos then his attention had shifted to d’Artagnan. The kid had been holding up admirably but he could tell that he was close to breaking. 

“Everything okay?” D’Artagnan whispered not wanting to disturb what sleep Athos managed to get.

“Yeah. Just can’t seem to sleep,” Porthos replied. 

“What is it?” D’Artagnan pressed. He could tell Porthos was worried, his dark eyes lined in more than just pain.

“You don’t miss much, do you?” Porthos chuckled. “I’m just worried about Athos. And you.”

“Me?” D’Artagnan remarked, surprised. “You don’t need to worry about me. Athos, though... he’s starting to lose it.”

“He’s grieving,” Porthos said softly, definitely not wanting his voice to carry to the man. 

“Grieving?”

“He’s making his peace with losing him. He doesn’t think we’re going to get him back alive,” Porthos explained.

D’Artagnan looked stricken. He had steadfastly refused to even consider the possibility that they would not get Aramis back. It was the only way he could continue. To think that after all of this they might still lose Aramis...

“D’Artagnan?” Porthos said. He hadn’t meant to upset him. He hadn’t realized how much he was blinding himself to the way this might all end. As he continued to look at him, he had to wonder if the kid was still deluding himself where his feelings for Aramis were concerned. 

“Talk to me,” Porthos urged gently. He saw d’Artagnan’s eyes go wide and went on hoping to calm him. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get him back. You just need to...”

“You don’t know that,” d’Artagnan interrupted him. “You don’t know that at all. Even Athos thinks he’s going to die.”

“Athos... Athos is scared, d’Artagnan. He’s terrified of losing his lover. I think... I think you are, too.”

“Aramis isn’t my lover,” d’Artagnan said.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not scared of losing him,” Porthos countered. “Doesn’t mean you don’t love him every bit as much as Athos does. Just because you may not want to do the same things with him that Athos does, doesn’t negate what you do want.”

D’Artagnan turned to Porthos, taking in the open concern on his face. He swallowed and cast a quick glance in Athos’ direction making sure the man was still asleep. “What do you want me to say?” he finally asked.

“Whatever you need to,” Porthos replied. 

“I... I love him so much, Porthos,” d’Artagnan admitted, his voice breaking. “I’ve never loved anyone... not like this. He’s... he means so much to me. I know he belongs to Athos. I know he’ll never... never love me like I do him... I just want him back.”

“I know,” Porthos said softly. “We all do. And I think he loves you more than you realize.”

“It doesn’t matter,” d’Artagnan said dismissively. “He has Athos...”

“It matters, kid. Trust me. It matters.”

Athos awoke to the sound of voices. He tried not to listen when he realized that Porthos and d’Artagnan were talking but it was a small room. He started to say something to let them know he was awake when he heard d’Artagnan say that he, Athos, believed Aramis was going to die. Embarrassed for seeming so weak when he knew they needed him to be strong, he kept quiet. What he heard next made him glad he had.

He had known, of course, that d’Artagnan loved Aramis. He even knew that the boy was in love with him. What he had not expected was to hear d’Artagnan admit to such outright. Had he been awake, he knew he mostly likely would not have, too afraid of Athos’ jealousy to risk it. To hear him say out loud how much he loved Aramis, made Athos’ heart twist. 

When he got his lover back, when he insisted not if, he would sit the pair of them down. D’Artagnan deserved to know his feelings were returned, that they mattered just as much as Athos’ own did. And while Aramis had never admitted to being in love with the young man, Athos knew that he was. It was, after all, one of the things that drove him to do what he did. 

“How much time do we have left?” Athos asked trying not to startle the pair but wanting to let them know he was awake. He heard d’Artagnan suck in a surprised breath and turned toward him. “It’s alright, d’Artagnan. I promise.”

“We, uh, got about an hour,” Porthos said. He could tell from Athos’ tone that he had heard at least some of their conversation. Porthos wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing or not but at the moment it didn’t matter. Once they had Aramis back safely then they would worry about untangling the rat’s nest of feelings that seemed to have developed.

Just before time for the final sigil, they turned the alarm off. All three of them were visibly keyed up with Athos in that tight, controlled way of his while d’Artagnan tried his best not to shake. This would decide it. One way or the other as Athos had said earlier. 

From inside the circle, the demon quietly watched them. It knew what was about to happen. It also knew that it would not give up its prize. If Athos was bent on its destruction then it would ensure Aramis was destroyed right along with it.

_“You will not stop them,” Aramis told it with a grim sort of certainty. He was exhausted, physically and mentally exhausted. The only consolation was the fact that the demon was as well._

_“Make no mistake, if they destroy me, I shall drag you screaming to Hell alongside me,” the demon assured him, though its smugness of days prior was gone._

_“If it means the world is free of the likes of you then it is worth it.”_

_“And will they think so?” the demon challenged. “Will they think it worth it when all that is left is a burned out husk bound to a chair?”_

_Aramis didn’t reply. He knew that Athos would not think it worth it, not at all. He had a feeling that d’Artagnan would be of a similar mind. He couldn’t let that stop them, though. They had come too far to turn back now. Besides, better to die a man than live as this demon’s slave for however long he had left._

_“Tell you what, I’m feeling generous. I’ll even give you a few minutes to say your good-byes,” the demon said, chuckling darkly. It knew that would only make things harder on Athos and d’Artagnan but it thought it worth it for the entertainment value alone._

“A-A-Athos...” Aramis called out shakily, hunching forward and moaning as another wave of pain rolled through him. It made him nauseous, his insides clenching painfully as he fought the urge to be sick. It wasn’t that the demon had been shielding him from the pain but rather that he’d had no way to express it, locked up tight inside of himself as he was. Now he was free to give voice to the agony that gripped him, moaning and shaking as he tried to fight his way through it.

Athos’ eyes widened at the sound of his lover’s voice, recognizing at once that it was him and not the the demon, and he rushed into the circle. He slid to his knees beside him, his hands gripping Aramis’ bound one and holding tight. He registered the fact that d’Artagnan had done the same on his other side but it was unimportant.

“Aramis?” Athos called hesitantly. 

“Athos,” Aramis panted. “I don’t... have long. Don’t... don’t...”

“Don’t what, love?” Athos asked. He could see the pain etched into Aramis’ face and it made him sick inside. They had done this. They had hurt him. Were still hurting him. And they were not finished yet.

“Don’t stop,” Aramis finally managed. “Whatever it says, you must... must keep going. We are... so close. You must... mu-must see this through.”

“I can’t lose you,” Athos said, his hand tightening on Aramis’ as tears filled his eyes. It was the truth. He couldn’t lose Aramis. Not and remain sane. 

“You won’t,” Aramis told him. “I will always... always be with you.”

“No,” Athos said sharply, shaking his head.

“Athos... love...” Aramis gasped, his stomach clenching painfully again. He hated hurting Athos like this. His lover had been through so much already but he needed him to see this through. “I am... am weak. I do not know...”

“No!” Athos said again, his anger rising. How dare Aramis talk like this, like he wasn’t going to make it!

“I love you,” Aramis told him sadly. He knew this was the last time he was going to get to talk to his lover. These were going to be the last words he ever got to say to Athos. He hoped they would give his lover at least some comfort. “I love you... more than any-anything. I will be waiting for you. Promise me... promise me...”

“What?” Athos asked. Tears filled his eyes and began to spill down his cheeks. This was like reading his letter again only so much worse. This was Aramis telling him good-bye. 

“Promise me... you will take care... take care of d’Artagnan,” he managed brokenly. “He will... will need you.”

“Please, Aramis,” Athos begged, unable to stand listening to him like this. “I love you. _He_ loves you. Don’t leave us.”

“I will do my best,” Aramis promised, giving both men’s hands a weak squeeze. “But we both know it means to take me with it when it goes. I’m not strong enough to fight it.”

“No,” d’Artagnan sobbed, the first sound he had made since joining them. “Please, no.”

“I am so sorry, my dearest friend,” Aramis whispered. “I love you... both of you... with all of my heart.”

“We love you, too,” Athos said as he fought to get his emotions under control. He could hear d’Artagnan crying softly and it made his heart ache anew. “I’ll look after him. I promise.”

Aramis looked at his lover, meeting his eyes through his pain. “Whatever happens, it was worth it.”

“Athos... it’s time,” Porthos called. He hated interrupting them but the sooner they did this the sooner they would get Aramis back. And that, he knew, was he only thing that would give them comfort. 

“Porthos,” Aramis called, drawing the man’s attention. “Take care of my family. And remember your promise.”

Porthos sucked in a breath at Aramis’ words, knowing exactly what promise he was referring to. He hadn’t given Aramis his word, but the man had known. He had known Porthos wouldn’t refuse what amounted to his last request. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure he could do it. Even now, even knowing what the demon was capable of, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to take Aramis’ life even to end the demon’s.

Aramis could feel the demon coming back. Its presence was surging around him, swamping his consciousness once more. His eyes shot to Athos. He wished he could do more, that he could offer his lover something but he couldn’t. Keeping his eyes locked on Athos, wanting him to be the last thing he saw, Aramis smiled softly before mouthing a last good-bye.

Athos felt his heart stutter in his chest at the finality of Aramis’ smile. His lover was telling him good-bye. Aramis didn’t think he was going to survive and he was telling him good-bye. Forever. In that moment, Athos knew true hopelessness. This, what they were doing, was going to kill Aramis and there was nothing he could do. He knew they could stop. They could try to contain the demon until they found some other way to rid Aramis of it but he knew that would never work. The demon would either manage to free itself or would kill Aramis out of sheer spite. Perhaps even both. Either way, the demon would be free and Aramis would still be lost to him. 

“This ends now,” Athos said breaking the tense silence. If he was going to put his lover in the ground then he was going to make sure the demon died with him. 

D’Artagnan took up the bowl and began preparing the mixture for the last time. As he worked, Aramis’ final words kept running through his head. Unable to keep quiet any longer, he asked the question burning inside of him. “What did you promise him?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Athos said brusquely. 

“You know what...” Porthos began but Athos cut him off with a shake of his head.

“No, but I’m not stupid and Aramis is... thorough,” Athos replied before turning his attention back to d’Artagnan. “Is the bowl ready?”

Wordlessly, d’Artagnan handed it to him and stepped back. He pushed the thoughts spinning wildly through his mind to the back and concentrated on the job at hand. This was it. This was the final sigil. This would see that monster driven from his friend and destroyed for good. That was what he focused on now as he watched Athos add his blood to the bowl.

With a last look between them, the pair moved into the circle to stand on either side of the demon. Athos held the bowl while d’Artagnan read the incantation. Once the blood mixture was ready, he slid his hand into the demon’s hair and pulled his head back as far as it would go. 

“I will kill him,” the demon said, its eyes glittering in rage. “I will shred his soul and I will drag it shrieking to Hell. He will know torment the likes of which man cannot fathom. Do this and you damn his soul for eternity.”

“Athos...” d’Artagnan whispered in fear.

Athos shook his head, silencing the younger man. “Which one of us is impotent now, demon?” With that, he tipped the blood into its mouth and slammed its jaw closed. He held it there, making sure the demon swallowed. When he was satisfied that it had, he let it go and moved around behind it. 

Dipping his fingers into the last of the mixture, he began to paint the final sigil in the middle of Aramis’ back. He felt it stiffen at the first brush of his fingers then begin to shake. He could hear it keening and moaning but he hardened his heart to it, determined to free his lover and destroy this thing. 

When he drew the final line, he felt the air in the room grow heavy. All at once, the sigils covering Aramis’ body began to glow. Looking at him, he saw blood streaming down his arms as the cuts appeared once more. He started to reach toward him when the sigils began to glow brighter. He held up his hand to shield his eyes from the brightness when a loud buzzing filled the air. 

“Porthos, what...” Athos began only to cry out and cover his ears as the buzzing turning into a deafening whine. He saw d’Artagnan hunching forward and doing the same and reached for him. His fingers barely brushed his arm before a blinding flash of light filled the room then he was being thrown backward by the force of it to land in a heap against the far wall.

Athos was still seeing spots as he pushed himself to his feet. He saw d’Artagnan doing the same a few feet away. Porthos was just managing to sit up having been thrown across the room as well. Athos headed toward him, but a shake of Porthos’ head let him know that he was more or less in tact. 

Swallowing thickly, Athos slowly turned toward the circle. He felt the bottom fall out of his stomach at what he saw. The demon... Aramis... sat slumped forward in the chair. His head hung down, his damp and sweaty hair covering his face. Blood still trickled down his arms from the words the demon had carved into them. From where he was, he couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

That realization was enough to spur him into action and he hurried across the room to the bound man. He crashed to his knees beside him and carefully raised his head. Aramis appeared unconscious. The glowing sigils that had covered his body were now gone. Not even a trace of the blood remained. Athos breathed a sigh of relief when he felt his pulse. It was weak but it was there. He reached for the knife, intent on freeing him when d’Artagnan’s hand on his arm made him jump.

“We need to make sure,” he whispered as he handed Athos a flask of Holy Water. 

Athos nodded and took the flask. He poured some onto Aramis’ head and nearly collapsed in relief when he did not react. Needing to be sure, he tipped his lover’s head back and carefully poured a few drops into his mouth. He held his mouth closed and gently massaged his throat until he felt him swallow then sat back. 

“Cut him free,” Porthos grunted from the mats, his arm and knee both screaming in pain. He had managed to drag himself back over to them and had watched as they checked Aramis for any sign of the demon. 

Athos didn’t hesitate. He quickly began cutting the ropes off of Aramis. D’Artagnan held him in the chair as Athos did so letting the shallow rise and fall of his chest beneath his hand ease him. Once he was free, Athos threw down the knife and carefully lifted him into his arms.

“Does he need a doctor?” D’Artagnan asked, concerned about the fact that he was still unconscious.

“I don’t know,” Athos admitted. “But we can’t take him to one like this.”

“Take him upstairs,” Porthos said. “Clean him up and see to those arms. He’s been through Hell. His body may just need a little while to recover.”

“Alright,” Athos said. “d’Artagnan, can you get Porthos to the hospital?”

“I’m okay,” Porthos started to argue but Athos only glared at him.

“Yeah, I can manage.”

Athos left the pair at that and carried Aramis up the stairs to the loft. He tried not to think about how much lighter his lover felt in his arms. He told himself it was just the lack of clothing that made Aramis seem so light. At the moment, he was willing to accept any lie that made this horror easier to endure.

He laid Aramis out on their bed as gently as he could. He started with his arms, cleaning and bandaging the wounds. He felt sick at the sight of his name carved in bloody letters on his lover. It had been one last parting shot by the demon, a way to ensure he never forgot all it had done to him. Once his arms were seen to, Athos began to tenderly clean him, wiping the sweat and grime from his body. He tried to ignore how sallow his lover’s skin was, thankful simply that he was alive. His color would return as would the weight he had lost. He would be his old self again in no time. Athos would see to it.

Now clean, Athos dressed him in a pair of boxers. He knew he could have left him naked but Aramis always preferred to sleep in something. Besides, Athos wasn’t sure what all Aramis might remember. He didn’t want him waking and finding himself naked with no memory of why. With him as comfortable as Athos could make him, he filled a glass of water and brought it to the bedroom. It was a bit tricky doing by himself, but Athos managed to get a few spoonfuls of water into Aramis without choking him. Considering that good enough for now, he pulled a chair over and sat down next to his bed. He took his lover’s hand in his own and silently held it as he prayed for Aramis to wake up.


	15. Chapter 15

Porthos was floating. That was the best way he could describe it. D’Artagnan had driven him to the hospital and given them some cock and bull story about a camping trip gone wrong to explain his injuries and why they had taken so long to come to the ER. D’Artagnan had even had the presence of mind to bandage the cuts on his arm beforehand, telling the doctor that he had gotten scraped up in the accident but that he had already treated it. The doctor hadn’t wanted to let it be but both men had insisted so he’d had no choice. Now, Porthos was being helped into the loft by d’Artagnan and Constance, his arm in a cast and his knee in a brace. 

“Nice place,” Constance remarked as they maneuvered Porthos onto the couch. 

“Thank you,” Athos said from the bedroom doorway. He had heard them coming in and had come out to see if they needed any help. 

“How is he?” Constance asked worriedly. D’Artagnan had called her from the hospital and had filled her in once she had arrived. 

“Ah, resting,” Athos replied, unsure what else to say at this point. 

“Well, he’s been through a lot,” she said. “You all have. Do you gentlemen need anything before I go?”

“No,” Athos replied. “We’re good. Thank you for... everything.”

“You’re welcome. Let me know how he’s doing, yeah?” she said as she readied to leave. She had a business to get back to now that this nightmare was finally over. 

“I will,” Athos assured her as he saw her out. “I’m sure Porthos will be keeping in touch.”

“Nice lady,” Porthos slurred as Athos closed the door and returned to the couch.

“Very,” Athos agreed, smiling indulgently.

“So how is he?” D’Artagnan asked. He had sensed Athos’ hesitation when Constance had asked and it sent a fresh wave of apprehension through him.

“Alive,” Athos shrugged. “He’s still out but he’s resting. I cleaned him up and got a little water into him.”

“Take me to him,” Porthos demanded, though his scowl wasn’t nearly as menacing with him stoned on pain medication.

“You need to rest,” Athos said with a hint of a smile.

“I need to see him,” Porthos insisted. 

“Porthos...”

“You don’t understand!” Porthos wailed. “He made me promise... he made me promise to do that... to... to...”

“Hey, easy now,” Athos said, coming over and sitting down next to him. 

“I need to see him, Athos,” Porthos said, his eyes turning from demanding to pleading in a second. “I need to know he’s okay. Please...”

“Of course,” Athos said at once. “Let me help you up.”

Thanks to the pain medication, it ended up taking both Athos and d’Artagnan to get Porthos up from the couch and into the bedroom. Once there, the man had all but collapsed on the bed next to Aramis. Ignoring his injuries, he rolled toward the man and pulled him in close, wrapping his arms around Aramis’ lax figure. 

“Porthos, you can’t sleep like this,” Athos tried to reason.

“I gotta be here,” Porthos replied. 

Athos tried a few more times to get Porthos to release Aramis but he gave the same answer every time. Finally, Athos gave up trying. As out of it as he was, he doubted if Aramis would even notice Porthos’ presence. Glancing at d’Artagnan, he frowned. The young man looked on edge, his eyes far too wide as they stared at Aramis while he slept. Recalling his promise to his lover to look after the young man, he went to him.

“Come on,” Athos said as he took d’Artagnan by the arm and pulled him toward the door. “They will be fine. Porthos will keep an eye on him for us.”

Reluctantly, d’Artagnan let himself be led from the room. He tried to tell himself that Athos just wanted to give the pair some privacy so they could rest. The little voice inside of him refused to be silenced, though. It kept telling him that now that the deed was done, Athos didn’t need him. Now, Athos was free to make him pay for what he had done to his lover.

“What’s wrong?” Athos asked once they were seated on the couch. He had left the bedroom door ajar so they could hear if they were needed. At the moment, though, his primary concern was d’Artagnan.

“Nothing,” d’Artagnan said, ducking his face away.

“You do not need to lie to me,” Athos told him. “But I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” D’Artagnan asked suddenly. After what he had done Athos should be furious with him, not holding his hand and asking how he could help.

“You haven’t done anything for me to be mad about,” Athos replied.

“You heard the demon,” d’Artagnan insisted. “I helped it. I...”

“You were tricked,” Athos cut him off. “You did not want to help that thing. You would never do anything to hurt Aramis.”

“I helped rape him. I think that...”

“You had no choice,” Athos told him firmly. “And it doesn’t matter.”

“What? How can you say that?” D’Artagnan demanded.

“Because I know my lover. Given a choice, he would have rather endured what that thing did to him than you be forced to perpetrate such an act on your family.”

“So you’re saying if given the choice he’d rather be a victim than a rapist,” d’Artagnan said in disgust. He wasn’t disgusted with Aramis. No, his loathing was directed at himself. He had no idea how he was ever going to look the man in the eye again. Facing Athos was one thing, but facing his victim would be something else entirely.

“For Aramis? Yes,” Athos said. He could see the fear and disgust coloring the young man’s face and longed to help him. “What is it you are so afraid of?”

D’Artagnan gaped at him then looked toward the bedroom. “How can I face him?” he finally asked. 

“Aramis knows it was not you,” Athos told him. “He knows you would have done near anything to prevent what happened. He does not blame you, d’Artagnan, and neither do I.”

“He shouldn’t have to...”

“Shouldn’t have to what? Be around you? Be forced to see that man that accosted him? Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied, his voice small and broken.

“That is not how Aramis will see it,” Athos said. “He does not see you as the man that attacked him. He blames the demon. No one else. He... he loves you, d’Artagnan. More than he cares to admit. And you love him.”

“I...”

“It’s alright. I understand. Really. He is an easy man to love.”

“I didn’t mean for this,” d’Artagnan whispered.

“Of course you didn’t. Neither did he,” Athos shrugged. “But it is done.”

“If you want me to back off or... or leave...”

“No,” Athos said quickly. “I am not so petty nor cruel a man as that. Aramis, for all kindness, does not love easily. I won’t see what is between you dampened because of my insecurities.”

“He’s your lover, Athos. I have no right to want what I do.”

“He is my lover, yes. That will not change. But I don’t own him.”

They spent a while longer on the couch then went into the kitchen to make something to eat. They were going to need to get the weight back on Aramis but that was a worry for later. They needed him to wake up first. For now, they made a simple meal and carried it into the bedroom. 

Both men paused when they saw Porthos wrapped around Aramis fast asleep. It was heart-warming, or would be if Aramis were not still unconscious. Athos knew it made perfect sense for Aramis to still be out of it. His lover had been through Hell at the demon’s hands as well as their own. Athos felt a twinge as he remembered the demon’s vow to drag Aramis to Hell with it. But surely it had failed. His lover was still here with them. 

“Do you want me to move him?” D’Artagnan asked. 

“No,” Athos said smiling indulgently. “I am not sure if you could anyway. Besides, this way we can keep an eye on both of them at once.”

“How are you holding up?” D’Artagnan asked after a few minutes. 

“Aramis is alive,” Athos said without taking his eyes from the pair. “I find little else matters.”

“Athos, you didn’t exactly come out of this unharmed,” d’Artagnan pointed out. “You were tossed across the room, too, and your arm was a mess before we even started.”

“I am fine,” Athos assured him, shaking his head in wonder at the young man’s concern. “I have a few news bruises and my arms are both bleeding again but it isn’t significant. I redressed the wounds. I shall be fine.”

“You’d tell me if you were hurt, right?” D’Artagnan pressed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Athos but he knew how focused he was on Aramis right now.

“I promise,” Athos told him. “But what about you? You did get yourself checked out at the hospital along with Porthos, didn’t you?”

“Ah, no,” d’Artagnan said, blushing slightly. “I wasn’t hurt other than a few bumps and bruises. They were already suspicious about the story I gave them. I didn’t want to do anything to make it worse.”

“What did you tell them?” Athos asked. He had been wondering what he could have come up with that would explain Porthos’ injuries.

“I told them we camping and he took a fall down a ravine. Told them our cell phones wouldn’t pick up and it took us a few days to hike our way out.”

“Good thinking,” Athos praised. “You’re really good at that, at thinking on your feet. I wouldn’t have had a clue what to tell them.”

D’Artagnan started to shrug and winced, his shoulder and ribs protesting the movement. He hadn’t done much in his opinion but he was glad he had been able to help. From what the two had told him, the investigation into Aramis’ grandmother’s death was still ongoing. They didn’t need anything to shine a light in their direction again.

“Are you okay?” Athos asked, not missing the way he winced when he tried to shrug.

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan replied, waving away his concern. “Just banged up a bit.”

“Do you need me to check anything? We have more than enough pain medication if you’re hurting.”

“No, man. I’m fine. I just banged up my shoulder some when I hit the wall. My ribs aren’t feeling too great either but nothing’s busted.”

“Alright,” Athos acquiesced. “But I’m here for you if you need me.”

Porthos slept like a man truly drugged to the gills. Even in his sleep, however, he was mindful of the man he held close. Every once in a while Aramis would grow agitated in his sleep. At least that was what they were assuming he was doing - sleeping. When he did, Porthos would tighten his arm around him the slightest bit and whisper into his ear. Whatever he said, it was enough to settle the man and he quickly subsided.

They sat and watched the pair sleeping for a while longer. Reluctantly, Athos finally forced himself to stand. Porthos would look after Aramis; that they need not fear. D’Artagnan, however, needed rest and he would not get any sitting vigil by Aramis’ bedside.

“Wait here,” he said as he slipped from the room. He hurried back downstairs to the gym and gathered up the sleeping bags they had left there. Returning, he spread two of them out on the floor beside Porthos’ side of the bed.

“What’s that for?” D’Artagnan asked once Athos was finished.

“You,” Athos told him. “I know you have no desire to leave their side but you need rest. It’s not the best but it’s better than trying to sleep in that chair.”

“What about you?” D’Artagnan asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Athos told him as he came over and pulled him to his feet. He led him over to the pallet and pressed him down on it. “I doubt I will actually sleep so it makes little difference where I am.”

“Athos...” d’Artagnan protested.

“Shh. Get some rest,” Athos told him. “I will be right here, Charlie. I promise.”

When Porthos awoke it was to a groggy head and an arm that felt like he’d been laying on it all night. As he shifted, he felt someone shift with him and quickly opened his eyes. Squinting against the soft glare of the morning light that filtered through the curtains, he saw Aramis lying sleeping in his arms. That explained the pins and needles at least as the man was laying on top of his good arm, his broken one wrapped around him as securely as he could manage. 

“What time is it?” Porthos asked quietly when he spied Athos sitting in a chair a few feet away. From the dark circles under the man’s eyes he’d guess he’d been sitting there all night.

“About seven,” Athos replied just as quietly.

“Where’s the kid?” Porthos asked, surprised at his absence.

“On the floor next to you,” Athos said with a ghost of a smile. 

Porthos turned over as carefully as he could until he spotted d’Artagnan snuggled down in the sleeping bag next to the bed. He felt his heart give a twist at the sight of him. He could understand where the kid was coming from. After all, he was currently curled around Aramis like he had some kind of right to be. 

All at once, Porthos realized just what he was doing and blushed hotly. “Ah, um, sorry about this, man. I was kind of out of it after the hospital.”

“No worries,” Athos told him. “I cannot fault you for not wanting him out of arm’s reach. Besides, this way we could keep an eye on the both of you.”

“Still, there was plenty of room. Why didn’t you just climb in on the other side?”

“He hasn’t woken yet,” Athos explained. “I didn’t want him to wake up and find himself surrounded with no memory as to why.”

“And me being all over him wouldn’t have helped that any,” Porthos said as he reluctantly began to draw back. He didn’t know why he was having such a difficult time letting the other man go. They had all survived. The worst was over. Yet for some reason, he found himself unable to relax. 

“You needed him,” Athos shrugged. “Having to watch that and being unable to do anything… I understand how hard that had to have been. Aramis would not begrudge you this.”

“Course he wouldn’t,” Porthos said. “He’s not the kind of man to turn someone away when they’re in need. But right now we need to be focusing on what he needs. Depending on how much he remembers at first, this may not be easy for him to deal with.”

“I know,” Athos sighed as he scrubbed a hand through his hair tiredly. “Part of me hopes he doesn’t remember any of this. I know that’s not being very realistic, though. Or fair.”

“What do you mean?”

“D’Artagnan is going to need help putting all of this behind him. Were Aramis not to remember what happened, it would make things much harder on him. How can he make up for something that Aramis knows nothing about?”

“Kid could just let it lie,” Porthos said.

“It would eat him alive from the inside out and you know it,” Athos said. “The only reason he’s been able to let it go for this long is because there were much more pressing matters to worry about. That is no longer the case.”

“You’re right,” Porthos agreed reluctantly. “It just doesn’t seem fair. Hasn’t he been through enough already?”

“They both have. Unfortunately, that doesn’t change anything.”

When d’Artagnan woke he wasn’t sure where he was at first. Looking around, he recognized Aramis’ and Athos’ bedroom and realized he was sleeping on the floor. Memories came back to him then and he pushed himself upright with a groan. 

“Easy now,” Athos said as he quickly rounded the bed to crouch down next to the younger man. 

“Athos…”

“You’re alright,” Athos said as he rubbed his back soothingly. “Just give yourself a minute to wake up.” He wasn’t surprised by d’Artagnan’s confusion. He had been through nearly as much as Aramis himself. It was bound to catch up to him at some point. 

“How is he?” d’Artagnan asked once the worst of his confusion had passed.

“Still out,” Athos said a faint hint of worry coloring his words. “I’m sure he’s fine though. He’s been through a lot. His body just needs time to rest.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Athos replied truthfully. “To be honest, I don’t even know what he’s going to remember from all of this.”

“I know it’s probably too much to hope for nothing but…”

“I know,” Athos said. 

“How’s Porthos?” d’Artagnan asked suddenly as if he just remembered that the other man was injured, too.

“I’m fine, kid,” Porthos chuckled from the bed next to him causing him to jump in surprise.

“He really slept there all night?” d’Artagnan asked unable to hide a grin.

“He was quite adamant,” Athos replied as he stood up. He reached a hand down and pulled d’Artagnan to his feet as well, grabbing him by the elbow when he swayed a bit. 

“I’m okay,” he said softly, though he didn’t release his hold on Athos. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time evening came Athos was quietly going out of his mind. Aramis still showed no signs of waking, lying still and corpse-like in their bed. Porthos had tried to tell him it was likely nothing more than exhaustion but as the hours ticked by Athos found that harder to believe. He wasn’t the only one, either.

As the day drug on, d’Artagnan grew quieter until Athos found himself checking not only Aramis for consciousness but d’Artagnan as well. He was even considering calling the young man’s parents in the hopes that they might be able to bring him out of it a bit. Porthos, however, had cautioned against that pointing out that allowing anyone other than them around the fragile young man was only asking for trouble.

“You don’t suppose…” d’Artagnan began then trailed off. He thin arms were wrapped around his middle as if warding off a chill. Or trying to hold himself together.

“What?” Athos asked carefully. 

“That it did what it… what it said it would. That it… that it… took him to Hell with it?” d’Artagnan asked with a wince as if the very words themselves were painful.

Athos felt the color drain from his face at d’Artagnan’s words. He legs suddenly grew weak and he had to grab for the wall to keep from ending up in a heap on the floor. He shook his head mutely, unable to speak as the horrible possibility took root. Had they done all of this only to lose Aramis in the end after all? Was his lover even now suffering in Hell at the hands of the demon?

“Athos! Athos, hey!” Porthos called loudly. He watched as the realization hit home for the man, nearly taking his legs out from under him in the process. He cursed his own injuries as he struggled to rise. 

“I got him,” d’Artagnan said as he hurried forward and took him by the arm. He felt Athos give a jerk and then terrified green eyes were pleading with him. Taking hold of him, he led him over to where Porthos sat propped up in the recliner. He saw Porthos open his arms and he all but pushed the man down into them. He had not meant to upset him like that. He truly hadn’t. He had been scared and was hoping one of them would tell him he was just being foolish. 

“It’s okay, Athos,” Porthos said as he pulled him against his chest as best he could. He felt him try to push away weakly but he easily held him in place until he finally settled against him. “That didn’t happen. Do you hear me? Both of you, that didn’t happen. He just needs some rest. That’s all. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a week, Athos was lost. Aramis still had not come back to them. He would ‘wake up’, his eyes opening but he wasn’t aware of anything going on around him. They were able to coax liquids into him during these ‘wakeful’ moments but that was all they had managed. 

“Athos, we need to talk,” Porthos said as he stood in the bedroom doorway. He was able to get around on a cane fairly well now as long as he didn’t overdo it. 

“No,” Athos said from Aramis bedside without looking up. He was bathing Aramis as he did every day, hoping his touch would somehow pull him back to them.

“Athos...”

“I am not abandoning him,” Athos said evenly.

“I’m not asking you to,” Porthos said. “I would never ask you to do that. But we need to think about getting him to a hospital.”

“No.”

“It’s been a week.”

“No.”

“Athos...”

“I said no!” Athos shouted as he sprang to his feet and glared at Porthos. 

“Brother,” Porthos said softly, coming over and laying a hand on his arm. “We’re barely getting enough fluids in him to keep him alive. The rope marks have pretty much healed. We can say we found him wandering outside the building. That he’d gone missing after a fight you guys had.”

“They’ll take him away. They won’t let me see him,” Athos said plaintively.

“We won’t let that happen,” Porthos said. “You have power of attorney. You’re his medical next of kin. We’ll sic your lawyer on them if they try anything. But this, brother, this isn’t working.”

“Give me a couple of more days,” Athos said, his voice pleading. “Please.”

“Alright,” Porthos sighed. In truth, he didn’t want to have to take Aramis to the hospital any more than Athos did. Power of attorney or not, if they deemed it in Aramis’ best interests they could keep all of them out. Plus there was the little matter of the police. Porthos didn’t want to give them any reason to re-open Aramis’ grandmother’s murder investigation. 

“How is he?” D’Artagnan asked Porthos a short while later. He found him sitting on the sofa, his eyes cutting back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom. Athos had gone to grab a quick shower so Porthos had returned to the living room.

“‘Bout the same,” Porthos said as he scrubbed his hand over his face. 

“He just needs more time,” d’Artagnan said, his words holding an air of desperation. It was getting harder and harder to make himself believe that. It was getting harder and harder not to wonder if their friend was going to wake up at all.

“If this keeps up we’re gonna have to take him to the hospital,” Porthos said. He saw d’Artagnan start to argue as Athos had done and held up his hand. “They got IV’s and feeding tubes and all kinds of things we just don’t have here. I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it, either. But it’s that or watch him waste away right in front of us.”

D’Artagnan was about to argue, terrified that if they let Aramis out of their sight for even a second they would lose him when a soft thud followed by Athos’ crying out cut him off. His eyes widened for a second then he raced toward the bathroom leaving Porthos to hobble after him. 

When he got there, he found Athos clutching his bloody fist and swearing angrily. A bright smear of blood on the shower wall caught his eye and he understood. He couldn’t exactly blame Athos for his outburst. He wanted to punch something, too. But breaking his hand on the wall wasn’t going to help matters any. 

Porthos limped into the room in time to see d’Artagnan gently taking Athos by the arm and pulling him from the shower. He understood right away what had happened and sighed. Aramis’ condition was taking a toll on all of them. He was about to tell d’Artagnan to bring him into the other room when a sound from over his shoulder drew his attention. Turning, he gave a shout and just managed to catch Aramis with his good arm as the man collapsed to the floor. 

Even as light as he was, Porthos was unable to hold him up with only one arm and carefully bore him down to the floor. He winced as his injured knee protested the movement but refused to let go, cradling Aramis as best he could with the man looking up at him dazedly. 

They ended up with Athos sitting on the floor, dripping wet, with Aramis lying in his lap. The pain in his hand was completely forgotten as he held his lover. Aramis had yet to say anything but Athos didn’t care. He could see the awareness in his eyes along with no small amount of confusion. 

“Athos, how about you let d’Artagnan get him back in bed while you get dressed and I see about your hand?” Porthos suggested. He knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that it was fruitless. Even if Athos had been willing to turn Aramis loose, the other man had stiffened, his hands tightening on Athos’ arm as much as his weakened condition would allow.

“Right, okay,” Porthos said as he ran his hand through his dense curls and tried to think of something else that would get his friends up off the floor. “How about if the kid helps you up with him? You don’t have to let go of him. He’ll just help you to your feet and then walk with you into the bedroom to make sure you make it okay. Would that be alright?”

“Aramis?” Athos asked, leaving the choice up to his lover. He didn’t know why Aramis was so against anyone other than him helping him right now but he was and that was enough for Athos.

Aramis looked at Athos then over at the man who had caught him when he collapsed in the doorway. He studied him for long seconds as if trying to decide if his offer was genuine or if the man had some other reason for wanting the young man nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot to help them. Eventually he nodded though his grip on Athos’ arm didn’t lessen.

D’Artagnan blew out a breath in relief then quickly moved toward the pair. He stopped short when Aramis actually shrank from his approach, his dark eyes going wide in what could only be called fear. Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to move slowly, his hands held out in front of him where Aramis could see them.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I’m just going to help Athos get you up off the floor so he doesn’t hurt his hand. Okay?” He paused then, waiting again for Aramis to give his consent before actually touching him. He wasn’t sure what was going on with his friend but he wasn’t going to make this any harder on him than it already was.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart,” Athos whispered when Aramis hesitated. “D’Artagnan won’t hurt you.” He felt Aramis start when he called him Sweetheart but ignored it. Right now they just needed to get him off the floor and back into bed. They could sort everything else out after that.

After another minute of strained silence Aramis finally nodded and the two men were able to carefully lift him up off the floor. Both were alarmed at how light he was as they carried him through to the bedroom. Once there, Athos laid him back on the bed and d’Artagnan quickly covered him with the blanket then both of them stepped back.

“I’ll just, uh, leave you guys alone,” d’Artagnan said, looking down. He wanted so badly to stay and make sure Aramis was okay but it was clear that the man didn’t want him anywhere near him. Not that he could blame him. Not after everything he had done. 

“D’Artagnan…” Athos said, unable not to respond to the young man’s pain.

“It’s okay, Athos,” d’Artagnan said, smiling sadly. “Just take care of him. I’ll be in the living room with Porthos if you need anything.”

By the time d’Artagnan entered the living room Porthos was just easing himself onto the couch. He carefully propped his aching knee onto the coffee table as d’Artagnan sat down on the other end. 

“How is he?” he asked.

“Awake,” d’Artagnan shrugged.

“Kid?”

“He didn’t want me touching him,” d’Artagnan said, shame coloring his words. “Not that I can blame him. After what I did...”

“D’Artagnan...” Porthos huffed. “I’m not sure he exactly recognized you. I don’t think he recognized anyone other than Athos. Not really.”

“He didn’t know who we were?” D’Artagnan asked.

“I don’t think so,” Porthos said. “Not right then. Not from the look on his face. For what it’s worth, I think he’s still in shock, at least to a degree. Give him a chance to come around all the way and get some food in him.”

Lying in bed, Aramis felt more confused than ever. He had no idea who these people were other than Athos. Looking around the room he was in, it was clear that he and Athos shared it, their mutual belongings littering the place, yet he had no recollection of it either. 

_What were they doing here? Where, exactly, was here anyway?_

_Why wasn’t he living in his dorm at Seminary any longer?_

_Why were he and Athos now sharing a room?_

_Why in the world was Athos calling him ‘Sweetheart’ of all things?_

_And most importantly, what had happened to him to leave him so weak he could barely stand?_

These questions and more ran through Aramis’ head as he lay there. He cast his mind back, but his thoughts were blurry. The last thing he could truly recall was attending a lecture in Ferguson Hall. He knew there was more after that. There had to be for him to here, now, like this, but he could not remember. 

“Aramis?” Athos called, startling him out of his thoughts.

Aramis opened his mouth to speak and realized his throat felt positively parched. He glanced toward the nightstand and the glass of water sitting there then back toward Athos. 

“Of course,” Athos said at once. He sat down on the edge of the bed and helped Aramis sit up a bit then held the glass to his lips so he could drink. “Not too fast. You don’t want to bring it back up.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said after pulling away. The water had felt divine and he wondered how long it had been since he had last drank anything. Glancing about the room again, he asked the first question that came to mind. “Where are we?”

Athos stared at his lover, blinking, then tilted his head. “You don’t know?”

“No,” Aramis said, his voice still sounding rough despite the water.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Athos asked carefully.

“Ah, attending a lecture at, uh, Ferguson Hall, I think,” Aramis replied.

Athos froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. A lecture. Seminary. That was over a year ago. Aramis had forgotten a year of his life. Of _their_ life. Athos felt nausea roll through him at the realization of what all that meant. For Aramis. For him. For all of them.

He recalled Aramis stiffening in his arms when he called him Sweetheart in the bathroom. It was no wonder. To Aramis, they were still in college, still just friends. They had never taken that all-important step to becoming lovers. In that moment, Athos felt his heart shatter. 

It seemed the demon had managed to take his lover from him after all.

“Athos?” Aramis whispered when his friend only stared at him in silence. “What is it?”

“That... that was at least a year ago if not longer,” Athos told him. 

“What?” Aramis gasped.

“There is a great deal you do not remember,” Athos said then winced. A great deal, what an understatement that was. How was he supposed to explain all that had transpired? More importantly, should he even try? Perhaps it would be best to simply allow Aramis to return to his original path. He knew the Seminary would welcome him back if he agreed to cut all ties with him. 

“Tell me,” Aramis said.

“I am not sure that would be wise,” Athos hedged. He saw Aramis start to protest and held up a hand to forestall him. “First, you are still weak from all you have been through. You need to be stronger. Second, I am not sure it would not be in your best interest to simply forget this past year even occurred and simply returned to Seminary.”

“I left?” Aramis asked, aghast.

Athos grimaced and shook his head, angry at himself for letting that slip. “Yes,” he admitted. “It is one of many things that happened. But as I said, you need to regain at least some of your strength before we talk about any more of this, if we even do.”

“You called me Sweetheart,” Aramis pressed. It was one of the things that had truly taken him off guard and he wanted an explanation.

“Yes, I did,” Athos agreed. “I shall not do so again.”

“Does that have anything to do with why there’s only one bed in here?” Aramis asked determinedly, refusing to allow Athos to simply brush him aside.

“Rest for now,” Athos said as he stood, refusing to acknowledge the question. “I’ll bring you some broth in a little bit.”

In the end, all Aramis could do was watch his friend go helplessly. He had felt such a sense of wrongness when Athos had turned and walked away from him that it was akin to a physical ache and he found himself wanting to reach for the man, to call him back, yet he did not. Instead, he watched his friend go, hesitating then leaving the door behind him slightly ajar as if he could not bring himself to close it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a short hiatus after this part.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again to Snow_Glory!
> 
> There should only be about one or two chapters left after this one.

Athos ran his hand through his hair as he emerged from the bedroom. _Aramis didn’t remember them_. It was a constant loop inside his head. His lover, the center of his word, thought them little more than friends. It was the cruelest thing the demon could have possibly done save killing Aramis outright. In a way, it was. For it was killing the Aramis they knew, destroying the man he had become and leaving this doppelgänger in his place. 

“How is he?” Porthos asked when a haggard looking Athos joined them in the living room.

“Exhausted. Confused,” Athos replied.

“I thought as much,” Porthos said causing Athos to look at him sharply. “Short term memory loss isn’t all that uncommon...”

“He’s forgotten the last year. Possibly more,” Athos said. “He thinks he’s still in Seminary.”

“What?” Porthos whispered. Shock and trauma might account for a bit of confusion but not the loss of a year’s worth of memories. 

“He doesn’t understand why we’re here, why I called him Sweetheart, why there’s only one bed,” Athos said bitterly.

“He doesn’t remember you guys are lovers?” D’Artagnan gasped, the very idea like a physical blow. 

Athos shook his head and looked away. He wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere and just... just forget. He wanted to forget the days of fear, wondering if he’d ever get his lover back. He wanted to forget the Hell they’d all been through in destroying the demon. He wanted to forget Aramis’ last words to him, telling him he’d always be with him. Most of all, he wanted to forget the almost accusatory look in the man’s eyes when he’d asked why there was only one bed in their room. 

“What did you tell him?” Porthos asked, breaking Athos out of the downward spiral of his thoughts.

“Nothing,” Athos replied.

“Nothing?”

“I told him he needed to get his strength back first. And that I wasn’t sure it was in his best interest to tell him at all.”

“Athos, brother, you can’t keep the last year from him,” Porthos said.

“Can’t I?” Athos challenged. “Wouldn’t it be better for him if I did? Let him go back to Seminary. Let him get his life back. Why should he be forced to remember the living Hell this last year has been?”

“Shouldn’t that be his choice?” Porthos asked.

“How is he supposed to make that choice if he has no idea what he’s choosing?”

“I don’t know,” Porthos said. “But keeping the truth from him doesn’t seem right. Besides, who’s to say he’s not going to remember somewhere down the road? Just because he doesn’t remember now, doesn’t mean he never will.”

“Porthos has a point,” d’Artagnan put in softly. “I didn’t remember until something triggered it. Then everything came back all at once and brought me to my knees. Do you really want to take that chance with Aramis?” 

Athos blew out a breath as he looked at his friends. They had a point. A very good one, in fact. Yet he was still reluctant to tell Aramis the truth. His lover had been through so much at the demon’s hands, much more than the rest of them had. Perhaps the memory loss was God’s way of rewarding Aramis. If it was, Athos thought it was a rather cruel reward.

“I need to get some air,” Athos said, getting to his feet.

“I’ll come with,” d’Artagnan said quickly. He didn’t trust Athos to be alone right now. Besides, he could use some air himself. The thought of Aramis forgetting him, forgetting everything that had grown between them, ate at him and he needed a little bit to get himself back under control.

“Alright,” Porthos agreed reluctantly. “But stay kinda close, okay?”

Athos nodded and the two were quickly on their way leaving Porthos alone in the loft with Aramis. Wanting to see for himself just how Aramis was handling everything, Porthos levered himself up from the couch and slowly made his way to the bedroom. He saw that Athos had left the door ajar and knocked lightly before pushing the door open wide.

“Hi. I’m Porthos,” he said from the doorway, feeling somewhat foolish for introducing himself but unsure if Athos had told him anything about him or d’Artagnan. 

“I am Aramis,” Aramis replied from the bed as he eyed the stranger warily. “But you already knew that.”

“Yeah,” Porthos said. Pushing off the wall, he slowly made his way over to the bed and sat down in the chair beside it. After looking at the man for a few moments, he decided to get right to the point. “Athos says you don’t remember anything.”

“No,” Aramis shook his head. “The last thing I remember was attending a lecture. Athos says that was more than a year ago. That I have forgotten… everything it would seem.”

“Yeah,” Porthos agreed. “A lot has gone on.”

“He doesn’t think I should know,” Aramis stated. 

“He’s trying to protect you.”

“And what do you think?” Aramis asked. He could see the large man was nervous, as if being careful not to say too much. 

“I think he’s making a mistake,” Porthos said honestly. “I think you have a right to know what happened, how you ended up where you are. Keeping it from you, that’s not going to do anyone any good.”

“So tell me,” Aramis said.

“No,” Porthos shook his head. “While I think you’ve got a right to know, just throwing the last year at you, that wouldn’t be good either. Personally, I’m hoping your memories come back on their own.”

“And if they don’t?” Aramis challenged.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Porthos shrugged. “You’ve been through Hell, ‘Mis. Give yourself some time. Athos… he’s just scared. We came so close to losing you and we finally got you back but… you’re still not here.”

Aramis looked at the man, taking in the sincerity on his face. He could see that he was sporting injuries of his own and wondered again what all must have happened. He thought about asking him about the bandages running down his arms but hesitated. He was tired and, for the moment, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

“Where is Athos?” he asked after a moment. He would have expected him to come and break up their little talk by now.

“Went out for some air,” Porthos said. “Him and the kid both.” At Aramis’ frown he tried to explain. “This is hard on them. Like I said, they got you back but not really.”

“I was close to the boy?”

“Yeah. D’Artagnan, he’s… different. Asexual I think you called it when you explained it to me. Because of that, he doesn’t normally let people close but you… you got under his skin right from the beginning.”

“Well, I could see where a celibate priest would not feel like much of a threat,” Aramis chuckled. He saw Porthos go still at his words and frowned. Again he had to wonder what the hell had gone on during this year he had seemingly lost.

“Try to get some rest,” Porthos said as he got to his feet. “I told Athos to stay close so he shouldn’t be out too late.”

“We share this room, he and I,” Aramis said. “We share this bed.”

“You do, yeah,” Porthos said. He saw Aramis start to ask him something else and shook his head. “Try to get some rest. We can talk again tomorrow if you feel up to it.”

“I look forward to it,” Aramis replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where are we going?” d’Artagnan asked once they were outside.

“There’s a bar around the corner,” Athos said as he headed in that direction.

“Bit of a dive, isn’t it?” d’Artagnan asked as he hurried to keep up.

“I’m not looking for a date,” Athos said without pausing. He wanted to get drunk. Very drunk very quickly. Perhaps then the turn his life had suddenly taken might make sense to him.

D’Artagnan fell silent after that. It was clear that Athos was not going to be deterred. The best he could do was go with the man and try to keep him out of trouble. At least they were only around the corner from the loft. Not that Porthos was in any shape to come get them if something did happen. No, it was going to be up to him to try to keep Athos in check. 

“Don’t look so worried,” Athos said after casting a sidelong glance at his companion. “I’m not looking for a fight either.”

“That’s good,” d’Artagnan said, some of his worry dissipating at Athos’ words. “Not that I don’t think we could take them but Aramis will be pissed if we come home in even worse shape than we are now.”

“Will he?” Athos asked. 

“He’s still your friend, Athos. Just because he’s forgotten the last year doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember the seven before it. He’ll care. At least about you anyway.”

“He will care about you, too,” Athos said softly. He needed to remember that for all that he had lost with Aramis, d’Artagnan had lost even more. “He may not remember you right now but… he will still care.”

They stopped talking long enough to find a table and order a round of drinks. D’Artagnan stuck with beer, still worried about Athos’ state of mind, while the other man ordered a neat whiskey. He hadn’t had whiskey since they moved into the loft, Porthos always preferring bourbon. The taste and feel of it burning its way down his throat was like greeting an old friend and he quickly ordered a second. 

“You are lucky in a way,” Athos said after he’d downed the second shot. Out of deference to d’Artagnan he ordered a beer instead of a third. 

“Lucky how?” d’Artagnan asked.

“You get to start over again. You get to try to rebuild things with him without… without our relationship getting in the way.”

“Athos, no,” d’Artagnan said aghast at the thought. Though if he was honest, some small part of him thrilled to the chance to try to make something with Aramis without worrying about coming between him and Athos.

“It’s alright,” Athos told him. “Who knows, maybe he’ll choose you this time. He wouldn’t even have to break his vows to be with you.”

“Stop,” d’Artagnan said. The thought of what Athos suggested was tantalizing yet at the same time it was heartbreaking. Athos and Aramis belonged together. He never wanted to come between that. He just wanted to be able to have some small part of Aramis for himself.

“It’s okay, Charlie,” Athos said, the alcohol starting to get to him. “You deserve to be happy just as much as he does.”

“So do you,” d’Artagnan said. 

“Do I?” Athos shot back though there was no anger in his words. “After all, I am the cause of all of this. Had I not insisted on finding answers, none of this would have ever happened.”

“What happened wasn’t your fault,” d’Artagnan said firmly. “Besides, if not for you we never would have met. Not any of us. I’d rather go through that all over again than give up what we’ve made together.”

“Me, too,” Athos said then sighed. “I’m just not sure Aramis is going to feel the same.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aramis couldn’t sleep. He kept dozing off only to wake up a few minutes later with a start, his eyes instinctively searching for Athos. He tried not to think about what that might mean and instead concentrated on why his friend was still not home. He frowned when he realized he was most likely the cause even if he didn’t understand quite why. 

Sitting up in the bed, Aramis grimaced at the sudden flare of pain along his arms. He looked at the bandages covering them, yet one more unanswered question, then took stock of himself as a whole. It was clear to see he had lost weight, a great deal of it from the looks of him. His arms, even swathed in bandages, looked emaciated. Looking down himself, he saw his chest and stomach appeared likewise. What the hell had happened to him? And where the hell was Athos?

Knowing he wasn’t going to get back to sleep, he threw back the blanket and rose from the bed. He felt a brief wave of dizziness but it passed quickly. Not knowing what else to do, only that he had to do something, he headed out into the loft. 

The place was big. Much bigger than Aramis had first thought. It had a huge open floor plan that was reminiscent of an industrial loft. He realized then that this was actually a converted warehouse. He wasn’t sure how big the place was but it didn’t look like there was any shortage of rooms. That only made the question of why he and Athos were sharing a room that much more confusing. 

Slowly, he walked around the place, familiarizing himself with the layout. In the kitchen, he found yet more evidence that he did indeed live here and had for some time. Not wanting to wake Porthos up and try to wheedle more information out of him, he settled for pulling down a bowl. Stress-baking is what Athos always called it when he did this. Perhaps he was right. Either way, it would pass the time and soothe his jangled nerves.

It was a little after two a.m. when Athos and d’Artagnan stumbled through the door and into the loft. They were brought up short by the sight of Aramis wearing an apron asleep in the recliner, his hands and face dotted liberally with flour. Both men stared at him, blinking owlishly, as they tried to figure out what he was doing in the living room, the alcohol they had imbibed seriously impairing their reasoning skills.

“You’re home,” Aramis said groggily as he sat up. He rubbed his hand over his face, smearing the flour around even worse. The sight made d’Artagnan snicker and Athos elbowed him in the side.

“What are you doing out here?” Athos asked, his words only slightly slurred. 

“Waiting for you to come home,” Aramis said as he rose. He looked at the two men and sighed when he realized they were both quite drunk. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Athos said as he stood rooted to the spot. “You need your rest. You…”

“You’re drunk,” Aramis sighed. 

“No,” Athos shook his head comically. “I only had two.”

“Plus the beers,” d’Artagnan added helpfully only for Athos to elbow him again.

“Stop hitting him,” Aramis said. “You both should go to bed. We can talk once you’ve slept it off.”

“I can’t,” Athos said without thinking.

“Why ever not?” Aramis asked.

“I don’t have… Well… We were sharing but…”

“Go to bed, Athos,” Aramis said softly. “I’m sure we can make do for one night.”

“But what about you?” Athos asked, his mind refusing to cooperate.

“I’m sure there’s enough room for the both of us,” Aramis said trying to sound as unaffected as possible. In truth, the thought of sleeping in the same bed as Athos was nearly sending him into a panic and he had no idea why.

Athos looked at his lover sharply, his eyes narrowing. What he saw there had him shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“Athos…” Aramis began but the man forestalled him.

“No,” he said again. “When you can look at me without reluctance, without… fear…”

“I don’t fear you,” Aramis told him.

“But you don’t trust me, either,” Athos said, the sadness in his voice palpable. 

“I do,” Aramis offered, his own voice taking on a pleading quality. He didn’t like where this conversation had suddenly gone.

“No, you don’t. Not entirely,” Athos argued. “I’ll take the couch.”

In the end, Aramis had little choice but to let it go. He knew from experience that there was no reasoning with Athos when he got like this. He didn’t understand why but Athos thought he did not trust him and he was not sure how to convince him otherwise. He only hoped the morning would bring with it a degree of clarity for all of them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Porthos limped into the kitchen the next morning he wasn’t surprised to find Athos asleep on the couch. He was, on the other hand, surprised to see Aramis sitting at the kitchen table picking at the bandages covering his arms. He couldn’t be sure but he doubted if Athos had been any more forthcoming about the wounds on his arms than he had about anything else and he dreaded the questions the man might have for him. 

“Good morning,” Aramis said softly when Porthos joined him, cup of coffee in hand. “I hope we did not disturb you last night.”

“Nah. Slept right through it,” Porthos said. “You okay? You seem a might preoccupied.”

“What happened to my arms?” Aramis asked as he met Porthos’ eyes.

“They got cut up,” Porthos replied.

“How?” Aramis pressed. 

“That might be better coming from Athos,” Porthos hedged.

“Athos does not wish to tell me. He believes I am a child that must be sheltered from the truth,” Aramis said, his voice tinged with anger.

“No, he doesn’t,” Porthos said, shaking his head. “But he does want to protect you.”

“How does keeping me willfully ignorant protect me? All it does is leave me ill-prepared for the future.”

“Look, I don’t disagree with you, ‘Mis, but you’ve been through a lot. Give him some time. He…”

“He what?”

“He thinks he’s going to lose you, lose what the two of you have built together, and he’s scared.”

“And just what have we built together?” Aramis asked, his heart speeding up at Porthos’ words. “Does this have something to do with us sharing a room?”

“Give it some time,” Porthos sighed, refusing to tell him anymore. As much as he disagreed with Athos about keeping Aramis in the dark, he did think the man needed to get his strength back a bit before they hit him with it. 

Annoyed, Aramis subsided knowing he was not going to get any more out of Porthos just then. As much as he did not want to admit it, he was probably right. He had only been up for a few hours after all and he was already fatigued. Still, it was hard to sit back and wait, aware that there were things he was not being told. He had even started to take off the bandages himself when he awoke but something had stopped him. Perhaps he was not as ready to hear the truth as he thought he was. 

Porthos breathed a sigh of relief when Aramis retired to his room once more. This situation was untenable and he did not know how Athos did not see that. What was the man going to do when Aramis finally decided enough was enough and ripped those bandages off himself? How was Athos going to explain that? Would Aramis even be willing to listen to him by then? 

“He is growing impatient,” Athos said as he slowly sat up. His entire head throbbed painfully and the booze from the night before threatened to make a reappearance. Still, this needed to be dealt with.

“You feeling okay?” Porthos asked as he took in the ashen color to Athos’ skin.

“My heads feels like it will burst,” Athos said. “But in truth, I have felt worse.”

Porthos winced knowing the feeling. Athos’ hangover, however, was going to have to wait. “He wants answers,” Porthos said. “This not knowing, it’s really starting to eat at him.”

“He just needs to get a little stronger,” Athos said.

“He’s strong enough, brother. What he needs is answers. What he needs is you.”

“I stole his whole life from him, Porthos. Me and my quest. It’s because of me that he’s like this now. Doesn’t he deserve the chance to start again? To take back the life I stole from him?”

“You didn’t steal anything from him,” Porthos said. “Aramis made those decisions of his own free will. This, what you’re doing right now, this is denying him that right.”

“It feels as if I did,” Athos admitted. “If I had never told him of my family, he never would have left Seminary. He would be a priest right now. Not... not this.”

“Did you ever think may ‘this’ is what he wants?” Porthos asked.

“Wants, no,” Athos shook his head. “Has consigned himself to on the other hand...”

“I think you’re wrong,” Porthos told him flat out.

“I pray that I am but in the meantime I must go out. There are things that must be set in motion for Aramis’ return to Seminary.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Aramis came out of his room for the second time, it was nearing mid-day. He had changed into a pair of loose sweats and a t-shirt. Perhaps if he was not dressing the part of an invalid the others would stop treating him as one. When he came into the living room, the couch was noticeably vacant and he could hear the shower running. Porthos was sitting in the recliner seemingly lost in thought and for a moment Aramis had to wonder if something new had not happened. 

“Is Athos in the shower?” Aramis asked as he sat down on the couch.

“No, that’s the kid,” Porthos replied. “He said he needed to go out for a bit and handle some things.”

“I see,” Aramis said and he did. Athos was purposely avoiding him. It wasn’t the first time his friend had done so, especially if he had something he didn’t want to tell him. Deciding he was tired of being kept in the dark, he went into the bedroom and returned with a pair of scissors. 

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Porthos asked as he moved over beside him on the couch.

“Yes,” Aramis replied succinctly and began carefully cutting open the bandage that ran down his left arm. He ignored the way his stomach flipped as he cut away first one bandage then the other. He told himself it wasn’t that bad, it couldn’t be or they would have taken him to the hospital. But Athos’ reluctance to speak of what happened was worrisome and he was tired of being patient. 

He didn’t look until he had both bandages cut off and his arms bared. Turning them over, he sucked in a gasp at the healing cuts that ran down the lengths of both his forearms. He had a moment to think that the cuts were quite precise before the reality of what he was seeing hit him. Of all the things he had expected to see, Athos’ name carved into his arm had surely not been among them. Seeing it was actually more shocking than seeing the word WHORE on the other.

As he stared at his arms, his breath stuck in his chest. _Why?_ It ran through his head in an unending loop. Why was Athos’ name carved into his flesh? Was he being branded a whore in general or was it meant to imply he was Athos’ whore? Considering they were now sharing a bed, he thought it obvious. 

“Aramis? Hey, breathe,” Porthos said as he shook him gently. 

“Why? Who…?”

“More like what,” Porthos replied running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m not sure I can explain. Not everything.”

“What are you talking about?” Aramis demanded hotly. “Is this what Athos doesn’t want me to know? That I’m his whore now? Is this why I’m no longer studying to be a priest?”

Porthos shook his head, unsure what to tell the man. How was he supposed to explain all of this? Aramis didn’t even know about the demon for fucks sake!

Aramis was about to demand the truth when d’Artagnan suddenly emerged from the bathroom clad in nothing but a thin towel. Aramis looked toward him and the sight of the nearly naked young man coupled with the wounds on his arms was enough to burst through the dam the demon had hastily erected in his mind before its demise. 

Moaning softly, Aramis bent over clutching at his midsection as memory after memory buffeted him, tumbling through his mind in no particular order. All at once he was awash in a wave of pain and fear as the last year came back in a rush. He felt Porthos hand on his shoulder but he was powerless to do anything but moan as his world abruptly righted itself. When the onslaught finally abated, he found both Porthos and d’Artagnan clustered around him, worry etched on their faces. 

Aramis looked at Porthos for a moment. He started to say something but the words were locked in his throat. Then he turned toward d’Artagnan. Grabbing the young man, he jerked him forward and kissed him on the mouth, putting weeks’ worth of fear, frustration and longing into it. When he pulled back, d’Artagnan looked dazed but he didn’t have time to deal with that right now.

“We need to talk,” he said breathlessly as he shot to his feet and headed toward the door intent on only one thing. “But I have to find Athos.”

“Try the place around the corner,” d’Artagnan called out as Aramis took off through the front door and down the stairs in pursuit of his wayward lover.

“You okay, kid?” Porthos chuckled, taking in the stunned look on his face.

D’Artagnan started to reply then sighed. “He remembers,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” Porthos nodded. “For a guy that just got kissed you don’t seem too happy about that.”

“I am,” d’Artagnan said quickly. “It’s just… I was hoping, you know?”

“Hoping?”

“To have a chance to make something with him,” he explained. “I know it was selfish. I mean him and Athos are meant for each other. He’s the love of Athos’ life.”

“You haven’t lost him,” Porthos said as he wrapped his arm around the young man’s bare shoulders. “He might be the love of Athos’ life, but you mean something to him, too. A lot of something if that kiss was anything to go by.”

“You really think so?” d’Artagnan asked, unable to hide the hope in his voice.

“I really do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Athos was just walking out of the bar when he saw Aramis come tearing around the corner. He felt his stomach flip at the sight of his lover’s uncovered arms. He considered ducking back inside but he didn’t. As much as he did not want to have this conversation with Aramis, he certainly didn’t want to have it in a dingy bar surrounded by strangers.

Aramis came to a sudden halt at the sight of Athos exiting the bar. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath. A thousand questions tumbled through his mind as he looked at his friend, his _lover_ , yet one burned the brightest.

Gathering himself he strode the rest of the way to Athos and gripped him by the arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked plaintively. 

“Perhaps the sidewalk is not the best venue for this discussion,” Athos stalled.

“Were you ashamed? Did you think it some quick way to be rid of me?” Aramis pressed, refusing to be put off.

“Please, can we at least return home?” Athos pled.

“Fine,” Aramis snapped, his anger spiking. “But I expect some answers.” With that, he turned and stormed back toward the loft. The sooner they got there the sooner he could find out just what his lover had been thinking in trying to hide the last year from him.

Athos had no choice but to follow Aramis. He saw the flash of anger in his eyes but he didn’t blame him. He had every right to be angry with him. Furious even. For everything that had happened to him this entire last year had been his fault. In truth, Aramis had every right to hate him.

Back in the loft, they weren’t surprised to find Porthos and d’Artagnan on the couch. Aramis gave them a terse nod then headed straight for their bedroom. While he would have liked to have had this conversation with all of them, he needed Athos to be honest with him. Besides, he didn’t want him to feel like everyone was judging him for the decisions he had made. 

Athos saw the pair sitting on the couch looking at him worriedly and tried to smile. This was it. This was do or die time for them. Aramis was going to demand his answers and he would have no choice this time but to give them. 

“Trust him, brother,” Porthos whispered as he walked past. “Trust what you feel for him. And know we’re here for the both of you.”

Athos entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him. This wasn’t a conversation to be overheard. Even by their brothers. As he sat down on the side of the bed he could only watch helplessly as Aramis paced back and forth within the confines of the small room. 

Aramis even went so far as to lock he door behind Athos. Turning around, he found the man sitting on the side of their bed waiting for him. He looked as if he was waiting for some axe to suddenly fall and cleave them in two, like having this conversation would put the last nail in the coffin of their relationship. And while Aramis ached to soothe and reassure him, he needed answers first.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Aramis asked again now that they were safely locked away from the prying eyes of strangers as well as those of their concerned brothers.

“I didn’t know how,” Athos admitted, cringing at how lame that sounded. 

“You could have found a way if you’d tried,” Aramis pressed. Pushing away from the door, he moved over to the bed and sat down beside him. He refused to acknowledge Athos’ subtle flinch and pressed on. “You were trying to hide it from me, trying to hide _us_ from me. Now I must ask again, why?”

“Because I thought you deserved better,” Athos said truthfully. “I thought you deserved better than me and all the pain and torment I had brought you. You deserve to have your life back. The other one, before the demon and me and...”

“What makes you think I want that life back?” Aramis asked.

“You were proud to be becoming a priest,” Athos said. “You felt it was your calling. I’m the one that took you away from all that. I’m the one that... led you astray.”

Aramis sighed, this was going to be a bit harder than he had thought. But it was not insurmountable. “You are right, I did want to be a priest. Quite badly even. It was what I had been groomed for ever since my grandmother took me in.” Aramis had to pause at the mention of his grandmother, the pain of her death knifing through him. Knowing he could not deal with that now, he pushed that memory to the back and concentrated on Athos.

“And I turned you from that path,” Athos said. He started when Aramis reached between them and clasped their hands together.

“No,” Aramis shook his head. “The decision to abandon the priesthood was my own. Was your admission about your parents and brother a catalyst? Of course but it was not the only one. I had been growing discontent for some time, finding myself unable to reconcile some of the archaic teachings been thrust upon us.”

“Again, because of me,” Athos said.

“No, not truly,” Aramis replied. “The feelings you evoked within me, they caused me to question. But you, yourself, did nothing. My Athos, always so careful not to cross a line, not to say or do anything that could be considered risqué. But just because you never crossed a line, my friend, does not mean that I did not, at least where my feelings were concerned.”

“I just... I wanted to give you the choice,” Athos tried to explain. “I wanted to give your your life back.

“I don’t want that life. The only life I want, is with you by my side.”

Athos jerked him into a hug before he could stop himself. When he felt Aramis’ arms tighten around him, he moaned and hugged him closer still. That Aramis was here, in his arms, was so much more than he had dared to hope for. 

“So, uh, what all do you remember?” Athos asked when they finally pulled back.

“Everything, I think,” Aramis replied. “Things are a bit hazy here and there but I do not believe anything is missing.”

“So you remember the basement?”

“That’s a bit sketchy but for the most part.”

“Do you remember when the demon had you?” Athos asked carefully.

“Yes,” Aramis whispered soberly. “Luckily, it was fixated on the lot of us and did not attempt to branch out and hurt anyone else. It made a few threats about Celeste and Constance but it did not try to harm them.”

“Thank God,” Athos breathed. They sat like that for a long time, simply being together. Finally, Athos felt he needed to broach the elephant in the room. “I know you flinched when I called you Sweetheart that time. If you no longer wish me to...”

“Athos, no,” Aramis said, aghast.

“If you no longer wish me to, you have but to say,” Athos forced himself to continue. “I have already spoken to Porthos, a separate bedroom can be set up for me beside d’Artagnan’s.”

“You want to move out?” Aramis gasped, stunned.

“I thought it might make things easier on you,” Athos said. 

“How could being apart from you ever make things easier?” Aramis asked. He was staring at his lover out of wide, wet eyes. He needed Athos, needed him close. Didn’t the man understand that?

“I just thought...”

“No,” Aramis shook his head refusing to let Athos finish. “You are not suggesting such for me. You are doing it for you. Do you... do you believe what it said? About me being its whore? 

“What? No, of course not!,” Athos said. He looked into his lover’s face and saw such a combination of sadness and pain that it made him ache inside. This wasn’t supposed to be hurting Aramis. This was supposed to be making it better.

“I’m so sorry,” Athos continued as he pulled Aramis to him again. “I’m messing this all up. I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want you to feel like you have no place to go because we share a bed.”

“You are my lover, Athos. There is no place you go that I do not wish to be. Or, at least, you were. If you no longer wish...”

“Of course I want to be your lover,” Athos said refusing to even let Aramis get the words out. “Just, after everything, I wasn’t still sure if that was something you wanted.”

“I never stopped loving you,” Aramis told him. “Not once. You... you were the only thing keeping me sane. Please don’t leave me now.”

“Leave you? Oh, Sweetheart, I couldn’t leave you if I tried. I love you so much.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You think they’ll be okay?” D’Artagnan asked from his place next to Porthos.

“Yeah. Athos is stubborn but Aramis will get through to him,” Porthos said.

“I always hoped he wouldn’t remember. At least not all of it,” d’Artagnan said. “It’s going to be such a shock when he realizes everything that happened.”

“At least this way we get it out in the open,” Porthos said. “And we’ll be there for him. He knows that. We’ll be there for you and Athos, too.”

“Thanks.”


	17. Chapter 17

Both men were nervous as they prepared for bed that night. Porthos had kept d’Artagnan occupied, allowing the pair to slip away. Now that they were alone, however, neither man knew what to say. 

As Aramis stripped down to his boxers, he seemed to notice the bandages covering Athos’ own arms for the first time. “Is it bad?” he asked as he slid into bed.

“Not so much,” Athos shrugged as he slid in next to him. He was careful to keep a bit of space between them, unsure how comfortable Aramis might be with too much physical closeness. 

“I do not mind your nearness,” Aramis told him as he reached across and took Athos’ hand in his. 

“Are you sure?” Athos asked. “I know we were still working things out before.”

“I am sure,” Aramis said. He looked again at the bandages covering his lover’s arms. “Will you show me?”

“Ah, are you sure you want to see?” Athos asked. “The one is just from the cuts during the ceremony anyway.”

“The other... the other is what it made you do. To protect me,” Aramis said, recalling the memory with sickening clarity. 

Athos nodded. He hated that the demon made him privy to that, hated that it had made him watch. He felt a wave of shame as he remembered begging the thing not to hurt his lover. He would have done anything. He had done...

“Athos?”

“Sorry,” Athos said, jerking himself back to the present. “I am just so sorry it made you watch that. For you to see me like that...”

“See you like what? Debasing yourself for my protection?” Aramis said, squeezing his hand tight. 

“I hated that it made me kiss it,” Athos admitted. To him, that was worse even than he cuts down his arm. “I felt like I was betraying you.”

“You weren’t,” Aramis told him firmly. “You were doing what you had to do for the both of us. Now show me. Show me what it made you do.”

With a sigh Athos reluctantly pulled back his hand and sat up so he could begin unwinding the bandage from around his arm. He didn’t really need it. He had only been wearing it to keep Aramis from inadvertently seeing the scars.

Once his arm was free of the bandage, Athos carefully turned it over. He heard Aramis suck in a pained breath and looked at him. His lover’s eyes were filled with tears as he stared at his name spelled out in crudely hacked letters running down the length of Athos’ arm. The fact that Athos had been forced to do this to himself made the wounds on his own arms seem inconsequential.

“I’m so sorry,” Aramis said as he took Athos’ arm and lifted it to his face. He placed feather-light kisses all up and down it as the tears he tried to hold back leaked from his eyes. “You should never have done that to yourself.”

“I would do anything to protect you,” Athos told him, awed by how affected Aramis was. “You are my world. I love you so much. I was so scared we weren’t going to get you back,”

“I know,” Aramis said as he carefully pulled Athos back down beside him and wrapped his arms around him. “It was the same for me. I knew you would vanquish the demon but I was unsure if I would survive it. The thought of never holding you in my arms again, it nearly broke me.”

“Me as well,” Athos said as he turned onto his back. He pulled Aramis flush against him, needing to feel his lover. The weight of his body, the touch of his skin, it let Athos know in the most visceral of ways that his lover was there with him where he belonged, free of the demon that had tried so very hard to destroy them both.

As they lay together, Aramis’ mind kept returning to what he had done. It hurt to think of the pain he had caused his lover by his decision. While he knew that Athos was not angry with him for it, he had to wonder if he did not feel betrayed by him. 

“What is it?” Athos asked, sensing that something more than just the state of his arm was troubling the man.

“I’m sorry,” Aramis said yet again.

“Sorry for what?”

“For what I did. For leaving you like that. I truly did not know what else to do and I knew if I told you that you would never let me go through with it.”

“Do not apologize for following the dictates of your heart,” Athos told him. “You could not bear the thought of losing him, I know.”

“He does not mean more to me than you do,” Aramis said desperately, afraid suddenly of the conclusion Athos might have come to.

“I know that as well,” Athos said softly. “But you do love him. A very great deal. I don’t begrudge you what you feel for him. Or the lengths it drove you to.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Aramis whispered.

“No,” Athos agreed. “You deserve so much better than I could ever hope to be, but you are stuck with me.”

“I’m still sorry I left like I did,” Aramis said, refusing to argue that with Athos, knowing it was a lost cause. “I wish I could have told you.”

“I wish you could have, too. But we both know how that would have turned out.”

Aramis nodded and fell silent again as he took in all his lover had said. He knew there was something Athos wanted to say but was holding himself back. He hated that they felt the need for that, that they could not simply lay their hearts bare and trust in the other to understand but too much had happened and that bridge was not quite rebuilt yet.

“Talk to me,” Athos urged. He knew there was so much they needed to discuss, needed to get out in the open after all that had happened, yet Aramis appeared reluctant. It was as if he was afraid to tell him for some reason. “Whatever it is, you know I will listen.”

“I was going to say much the same thing to you,” Aramis chuckled. 

“Ah,” Athos said, understanding. “It… That is… I just wanted you to know…”

“Athos?” Aramis said, his alarm growing as Athos stumbled over his words.

“I’m being foolish, I know.” It wasn’t so much that he was worried for his lover’s censure, but he did not want him to get the wrong idea, either. “Just… you aren’t the only one that has grown close to him. D’Artagnan… he means a great deal to me, too.”

“Oh,” Aramis replied, surprised. He recalled something the demon said then, about how close the two were becoming and felt a niggling tendril of worry.

“It isn’t… like that,” Athos said quickly, the look on Aramis’ face telling him exactly what his lover was thinking. “He is like a brother to me.”

Aramis felt relief wash over him at Athos’ words then quickly chided himself. He would be a fine one to find fault if his lover had turned to the other man. He had left him, after all, and he was the one that had started something with the younger man in the first place.

“Stop that,” Athos told him. “You have done nothing wrong. Not in my eyes.”

“You are a very generous man, my love,” Aramis said. 

“No, I’m not,” Athos shook his head. “I’m greedy and jealous and…”

“No,” Aramis said firmly. “You are not.”

They laid together for a while then, simply holding each other. Aramis’ head rested on Athos’ chest and the strong beat of his heart was a balm to his still wounded soul. He loved this man so much. It was hard to believe that Athos felt the same. And that he was so willing to forgive him for all that he had done. 

Not really wanting to, but knowing that Aramis needed to talk about it, Athos carefully broached the subject. “I know you likely do not want to talk about this, but…”

“Talk about what?” Aramis asked, frowning.

“About what the demon said… about d’Artagnan.”

“No,” Aramis said, shaking his head. 

“Aramis?”

“No. It’s over and done with. I don’t… We don’t need to talk about it. He had no choice. The demon tricked him. I know that.”

Athos could feel his lover stiffening in his arms and kicked himself for bringing the subject up. He ran his hands up and down Aramis’ back, trying to soothe him as he whispered into his ear, telling him it was alright, that it was over, that of course he understood. 

It took a long time for Aramis to calm down again after that. They talked of other things, of Porthos’ slowly healing injuries and how guilty Aramis felt about them, of how long it might be before the man was whole again, of Constance and all the help she had given them. Anything and everything that was not d’Artagnan and what he had done. Finally, Aramis lay lax in his lover’s arms again, Athos’ heartbeat once more beating soothingly in his ear.

“Do you think it’s gone?” Aramis asked suddenly. “For good, I mean?”

“Yes,” Athos said firmly. “It’s gone and it’s not coming back. You’re safe, Sweetheart. I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Athos couldn’t sleep. 

He knew why he couldn’t sleep, just as he knew perfectly well that he was being ridiculous. Aramis was back. They were together again. There was no reason for this incessant watch his psyche seemed intent upon keeping. Yet no matter how much he reasoned with himself, he still couldn’t sleep.

Aramis, by contrast, slept like one truly exhausted in both mind and body. It would seem the recovery of his memories had taken quite a toll on him. Or perhaps it was simply that he was back within the arms of his lover and therefore finally able to rest again. Either way, Athos was grateful. 

As he lay in bed, a faint breeze drifted in from the partially open window. The sudden flutter of the curtain had him stiffening and tightening his hold on Aramis before he could stop himself as memories of the demon’s nocturnal visits assailed him. 

“What is it?” Aramis whispered. He had felt Athos’ arm tighten around him. Even more alarming was the sudden staccato rhythm of his heart as it pounded beneath his ear.

“N-nothing,” Athos stammered as he fought against the memories that tried to swamp him.

“Athos?” Aramis frowned, pushing himself up so he could look down into his lover’s face. The fear he saw there made his own heart start to hammer and he quickly scanned the room for any sign of what might have frightened him so.

Taking a deep breath, Athos forced himself to calm down. He was being ridiculous. It was nothing more than an errant breeze. The demon was gone and it wasn’t coming back. He had nothing to be afraid of.

“Excuse me,” he said as he slid out from under Aramis. Striding to the window, he closed it firmly, even going so far as to lock it. 

“Oh,” Aramis said, understanding dawning. 

“I am being foolish, I know,” Athos said as he slid into bed and pulled Aramis back down against him.

“You are not,” Aramis replied. He saw Athos’ eyes widen and hurried on. “The demon is gone, yes, but its mark is still quite present. It will take time for those wounds to heal. I only wish erasing the wounds left inside of you would be as easy as erasing the ones on your arm.”

Athos looked at the top of his lover’s head, glad he could not see the look of horror on his face. “I am not erasing anything,” Athos told him, aghast at the very idea.

“What?” Aramis gasped. He tried to push himself up again but Athos held him to his chest. 

“The cuts from the ceremony are not deep. They will not scar. As for the other, it is as I told Porthos. I am not erasing any part of you and that includes your name from my arm.”

By the time morning came, Athos’ eyes felt like they were filled with sand and his arm was numb from Aramis sleeping on it. He didn’t care, though. Those minor discomforts were nothing compared to the soul-searing pain of being parted from this man. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Aramis asked from his chest as he came awake.

“No,” Athos admitted, chagrinned. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Aramis told him as he rolled over and onto his back. 

“Not to me it doesn’t,” Athos said and rolled over as well so that he was now the one lying atop his lover. 

“Athos...” Aramis moaned. The feel of his lover holding him like this sent a wild rush of desire all the way through him. He had never thought to have this again, to have his lover in his arms, in their bed, and it made him ache with sudden want.

“I’m here,” Athos said as he moved atop him fully. He could feel the evidence of Aramis’ desire pressing into him and his own body began to respond. He tried to hold himself in check, not wanting to push his lover too far too fast. 

“I want you,” Aramis told him boldly, his body on fire. 

Athos stared down at him for a moment, frozen, then he was kissing him hard and fast. He pressed his tongue into Aramis’ mouth, moaning when the man kissed him back with equal fervor. 

In no time, they were rutting against each other desperately. Both of them starving for the touch of the other. As Athos ground down against him, his cock a hard line in his shorts, Aramis thrust up, grinding against him as well. 

“Going to come,” Aramis panted, his release spiraling closer and closer.

“Me, too,” Athos managed then he was kissing him again, driving his tongue in deep as he ground their erections together. 

That was more than enough to push Aramis over the edge and he came with a strangled shout that Athos drank down eagerly. A moment later, Athos felt his own release slam into him and he began to come, his seed soaking his shorts between them.

When they finally emerged from their room, both men were smiling. They held hands as they walked into the living room, continuously casting glances at each other. It made Aramis blush softly every time he caught Athos’ eyes. Athos himself was little better, his heart feeling fit to burst whenever Aramis looked at him like that.

It was so different from how they had gone to bed the night before that their friends stared openly. This was the Athos and Aramis they had come to know before and it made something in Porthos’ heart finally unfreeze. D’Artagnan was not immune either. Seeing both men so happy filled him with a melancholy sort of happiness. He was glad for them, truly he was, and he knew in time he would be able to feel that gladness without the underlying hint of sadness he could not help but feel now.

Porthos didn’t miss the way d’Artagnan looked at the pair. He was glad that they only seemed to have eyes for each other at the moment for the boy’s pain was written all over his face. Leaning in close, he nudged his shoulder and whispered to him.

“You haven’t lost him,” Porthos said. “You couldn’t lose him if you tried, kid.”

“I know,” d’Artagnan said though his tone belied his words. “It’s just... after everything...”

“He’s not going to hold that against you. Trust me. Trust _him_. He still loves you, d’Artagnan, as much today as he did a month ago.” Their conversation was put on hold when the pair came over and joined them on the couch. Porthos couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the way they still held hands as they sat with their shoulders pressed together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Athos, you busy?” Porthos called sheepishly. Aramis was out on the balcony enjoying the unseasonably warm Spring weather and the kid had his nose buried in his computer.

“Not particularly,” Athos said looking up from his own laptop. He had been going over their latest financial statements, making sure that everything was being taken care of. 

“I, ah, I’d like to drop by Constance’s and ah...”

“You want me to come with?” Athos asked, arching an eyebrow in surprise. Porthos was not known for his shyness. But, considering everything they had all been through, he could understand some degree of... hesitation on his part.

“If you don’t mind,” Porthos grumbled, embarrassed at acting so needy. It was just that the lady had done so much for them and he really didn’t want to screw this up.

“Let me just tell Aramis we’re stepping out,” Athos smiled. 

When Athos stepped out onto the balcony, Porthos moved to d’Artagnan’s side and leaned in close. “You want to talk to him, now’s your chance,” he said.

D’Artagnan waited until he was sure the two men were gone before heading for the balcony. Porthos was right. He did need to talk to Aramis and he was likely to get no better chance than this. It wasn’t that he minded Athos being there, but it made him feel disrespectful to speak so intimately to Aramis right in front of his lover. 

Out on the balcony he found Aramis sitting in one of the chairs, his head tipped back enjoying the feel of the sun beating down on his face. For a moment, all he could do was stare. To see Aramis like this, free and unfettered, made his heart ache in the best of ways.

“What is it?” Aramis asked without opening his eyes having heard the balcony door open and close. 

“I, ah, I’d like to talk to you,” d’Artagnan said hesitantly.

“Then come and sit down,” Aramis said as he sat up. He had to blink a few times to get the spots out of his eyes. Finally able to see again, he could tell right away that something was bothering his young friend and held out his hand to him.

D’Artagnan took the proffered hand at once, allowing himself to be pulled over to one of the empty chairs. Sitting down, he continued to hold Aramis’ hand, needing the connection. “I just... just want to say... how... how sorry I am,” he began haltingly.

“Sorry for what?” Aramis frowned.

“For what I did to you,” d’Artagnan said, swallowing thickly. “I know the demon told you...”

“No,” Aramis said, the word coming out much more harshly than he had intended. 

“Aramis?” D’Artagnan called, confused by his friend’s reaction. “I didn’t mean... I never meant...”

“I said no,” Aramis snarled, jerking his hand out of d’Artagnan’s grip. “I will not sit here and listen to this. I will not sit here and listen to you apologize for what the demon did. It’s over and done with. Leave it in the past where it belongs.”

Without another word Aramis got to his feet and returned to the loft. He headed straight to his bedroom, knowing the younger man would not try to follow him there. Sitting on the side of the bed, he took several deep breaths as he attempted to calm himself. He was not angry with d’Artagnan. He had meant what he said about the fault lying at the demon’s feet but that did not mean he wanted to talk about it. 

D’Artagnan stared after Aramis, his heart turning to ice in his chest. He had not meant to upset him. He only wanted to apologize and try to find some way to make amends for what he had done. It was obvious now that there would be no making amends. Not with Aramis. Not for this. In that moment, he felt the tiny dream inside of him sputter out and die. 

When Athos and Porthos returned home they knew right away that something was wrong. D’Artagnan looked positively heartbroken and there was no sign of Aramis. Seeing the balcony door now closed, Athos headed for their bedroom hoping his lover was there, leaving Porthos with d’Artagnan. 

Athos huffed out a sigh of relief when he saw that Aramis was safely in their room sitting on the bed. He was about to ask what was going on when he took in his lover’s expression. Aramis looked angry. Angry and… lost. Knowing that an angry Aramis was always something to be approached with caution, he toed off his shoes and hung his jacket on the back of the door before moving toward the bed.

“You want to talk about it?” Athos asked as he moved onto the bed next to his lover. He mirrored Aramis, sitting with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out.

“No,” Aramis replied succinctly. 

“Okay,” Athos said, not wanting to push. “But I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Aramis huffed. 

Athos let it go, simply sitting next to him. He knew, in time, Aramis would talk to him. At least he hoped he would. Before all of this it would have been a given but so much had happened it felt like they were learning each other all over again. 

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Aramis said suddenly. “He doesn’t need to seek forgiveness for something he didn’t do.”

“No, you’re right,” Athos said, understanding what was wrong now. “But...”

“But what?” Aramis snapped. He was angry and tired and that only made him angrier still. He hated feeling weak and that was all he felt of late. He knew he still had a fair amount of healing to do, that he still needed to put back on the weight he had lost, but it didn’t make the waiting any easier.

Athos didn’t say anything. Aramis obviously was in no fit state to discuss the issue. While Athos agreed with him that d’Artagnan should not have to make up for the demon’s actions, he understood that the young man might need to for his own sake. Athos didn’t know if Aramis wasn’t quite ready to hear that yet, though.

“I’m sorry,” Aramis said after a few minutes. “I don’t mean to snap at you. I just cannot bear the thought of him taking the blame for what that thing did.”

“I know, Sweetheart,” Athos said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “And I know you don’t really want to talk about it, but I think you need to.”

“Talk about what?” Aramis quipped, trying to deter Athos.

“About the rape,” Athos said bluntly. “You may blame the demon and rightly so but that doesn’t mean you’re not still upset by what you found out.”

“He was protecting his family,” Aramis said, his voice suddenly growing small.

“He was,” Athos agreed. “But that doesn’t change what he did. It... it doesn’t even excuse it. Not really.”

“What else was he supposed to do?” Aramis shrugged, though he didn’t refute what Athos said. “It was them or me. He did the right thing.”

“Maybe,” Athos said. “Maybe there was no right thing. It still doesn’t change the fact that he traded you for his family. It still doesn’t change the fact that he helped the demon lure you into that alley knowing what was going to happen. And I think... I think you’re angrier about that than you realize.”

“I have no right to be angry,” Aramis shook his head. “He was duped. He didn’t know what the demon had in mind. I know this. The demon showed me.”

“Fair enough,” Athos said. “But if he had known, would it have made any difference?”

“You can’t ask that, Athos,” Aramis said, turning to stare at his lover. “There is no way to know and it would be putting him into an impossible position.”

“Like on your knees in some filthy alley wasn’t an ‘impossible position’?” Athos pressed.

“You’re not being fair,” Aramis argued, but every argument he offered was a little bit weaker. Athos was right. He was angry about what happened. Angry and hurt. He would never have traded d’Artagnan for the safety of another. He had thought the young man would have felt likewise. 

“Maybe not,” Athos replied. “But I am being honest. And I think you need to face this, to face what happened and find some way to make peace with it because ignoring it and pretending it didn’t happen are only going to work for so long.

“You don’t want this to be the thing that destroys what’s between you two,” Athos told him gently.

“Whatever do you mean?” Aramis asked, trying and failing to act surprised by Athos’ words. 

“What I mean is that if you don’t fix this you could end up losing what you’ve found with each other,” Athos said as plainly as he could. He could see Aramis starting to argue again and sighed. 

“Aramis, he’s in love with you,” Athos said. “And you’re in love with him as well.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Aramis said stubbornly. “Besides, even if I was it wouldn’t matter. D’Artagnan is asexual, in case you have forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything and yes, you are in love with him. It’s okay. I know you didn’t set out to do this. You were just trying to be there for him. I’m not... not upset or anything.”

“How can you say that?” Aramis asked. “I have betrayed you, betrayed what is between us by having feelings for someone else. How can you say you’re not upset?”

“Because as much as I love you, I don’t own you,” Athos said. “I saw what was going on. I could have put a stop to it.”

“Why didn’t you?” Aramis asked, genuinely confused as to why Athos would allow his relationship with d’Artagnan to progress if he’d had an inkling of where it was going.

“Because he needed you and I think you needed him, too.”

“I still feel as if I have betrayed you,” Aramis said.

“You haven’t,” Athos assured him. “I can’t say I won’t ever get jealous but that’s my problem to deal with. Besides, you’re not the only one that cares about the kid. He... he means a very great deal to me, too. Just not in quite the same way.”

“It really is irrelevant, though,” Aramis tried to reason. “He does not care for being touched...”

“He doesn’t care for being touched sexually,” Athos amended. “He’s okay with holding and kissing. He certainly likes it when you hold him.”

“And you,” Aramis said softly. He had not missed how close the two had grown during his ordeal. The demon had taken great delight in pointing it out. Now he had to wonder if perhaps the two had not grown closer than he’d realized.

Athos’ eyes widened at Aramis’ words. “It... it wasn’t like that. He needed a friend... a brother. That was all.”

“I’m sorry,” Aramis said, looking down. “I have no right to question...”

“You have every right. I do love him, I’m just not in love with him. But while that might be true for me, it’s not for you and I think it’s long past time you admitted that to yourself.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what happened?” Porthos asked as he sat down next to d’Artagnan. 

“I tried to talk to him,” d’Artagnan said dully. 

“And?” 

“He wouldn’t even listen to me,” d’Artagnan replied in a pain-filled voice. “He just… just stormed off.”

Porthos sighed and wrapped his arm around the other man’s slightly shaking shoulders. “He’s been through a lot, kid. Give him some time to come to grips with everything.”

“He hates me,” d’Artagnan whispered as he leaned into Porthos’ side. 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Porthos told him. “But a lot went down and he may not be ready to face it all yet.”

D’Artagnan sat for a moment, taking in what Porthos said. He wanted to believe him. He wanted that more than anything but he couldn’t. He had seen the look on Aramis’ face when he had jerked his hand away from him. Whatever had been growing between them was dead and he had no one to blame but himself.

“So, um how did it go at Constance’s?” d’Artagnan asked hoping to change the subject.

“Good!” Porthos exclaimed then blushed when he realized how excited he sounded.

“That’s great,” d’Artagnan chuckled, happy for his friend. 

Porthos ducked his head shyly, unable to keep the smile from his face. As soon as he and Athos had walked in the door of her shop she had come running out from around the counter and hugged him. She had hugged them both, actually, but Porthos liked to think that his lasted a bit longer. He had been so worried for her, for what might happen should they fail and the demon get free. To know she was safe was a huge relief. 

“Tell you what, why don’t we head down to the gym for a bit and I’ll tell you all about it?” Porthos suggested wanting to give the kid some space from Aramis.

“Yeah, okay,” d’Artagnan said. “Have you sent her flowers yet?”

“No,” Porthos shook his head as they headed for the door. “Don’t you think it’s too soon for that? I mean I don’t wanna scare her off or anything.”

“Porthos, if the lady wasn’t scared off by a demon, I doubt roses are going to send her running.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end. It’s been a long ride.
> 
> Thanks to Snow_Glory for all help along the way!!

Aramis smiled as he came out of the bedroom and saw Porthos once more staring at the bright bouquet of flowers on their coffee table. They had arrived the day after his visit with Constance and the man couldn’t seem to stop looking at them. Apparently, the lady wasn’t one for waiting around or letting her feelings go unnoticed. 

Aramis was happy for him. The two made a cute couple. Constance was quite no-nonsense, something that Porthos admired a great deal. Considering their line of work, it was an essential trait. Aramis hoped everything worked out for them. They deserved some happiness.

He only wished his own life was going as smoothly. He and Athos had continued to talk about what all he had gone through, slowly working through it. He knew he needed to talk to d’Artagnan, that he had done the younger man a disservice when he had turned his apology away as he had. The problem was, d’Artagnan was avoiding him. Strenuously. It was to the point where he barely caught a glimpse of him anymore and it was beginning to worry him.

“Have you seen d’Artagnan?” Aramis asked as he sat down on the couch.

“Left a little while ago,” Porthos replied. “Said he was going to see his folks.”

“He’s leaving us, isn’t he?” Aramis asked dejectedly.

Porthos started to reply then stopped. He looked at Aramis and saw the misery on his face and sighed. “I think he’s getting ready to, yeah,” he finally said. “You need to talk to him.”

“I’ve been trying but it’s as if he’s hiding from me.”

“He is,” Porthos said. “He thinks, well, he thinks you hate him. That you blame him for what happened. It’s really messing him up.”

“I don’t,” Aramis cried in dismay. “I never blamed him. I just… I just couldn’t stand the thought of him apologizing for… for that. It wasn’t right. The demon was the one…”

“It was still the kid,” Porthos broke in gently. “Yeah, the demon made him, but it was still him doing it. He’s still got those memories rolling around inside his head. He needs you to forgive him for what he did.”

“ _He_ didn’t do anything,” Aramis argued.

“He still needs you to forgive him,” Porthos countered. “Until you do, he can’t even begin to forgive himself.”

Aramis stared at Porthos, horrified. He had never considered the fact that d’Artagnan might continue to blame himself regardless of his words. He had thought they could simply forget it ever happened, put it behind them and move on. It was clear, however, that they couldn’t. Or at least d’Artagnan couldn’t. 

With Porthos’ words ringing in his ears, Aramis settled in on the sofa to wait. The young man had to come home sometime and he would be there waiting for him when he did. They would talk this out like they should have done days ago. They had not survived the demon’s rampage only to be torn apart by useless guilt. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late by the time d’Artagnan returned to the loft. He had spent a long time talking with his parents, avoiding returning home, until his mother had asked him outright what was wrong. He hadn’t known what to say and had simply shrugged and mumbled something about things being tense right now. His mother had wasted no time in telling him he was welcome to move back any time he wanted, no questions asked. He had nearly cried then, gratitude for his parents’ support warring with the fear of losing his friends. 

He slipped into the loft as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the others. When he flipped on the light he nearly yelped in surprise as Aramis sat up groggily on the couch. He froze, unsure what to do. It was obvious that Aramis was waiting for someone and that someone was more than likely him. Considering how their last conversation had gone he wasn’t sure he wanted to have another.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming home at all,” Aramis said as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He had fallen asleep a few hours ago, unable to stay awake any longer. Athos had tried to get him to come to bed but he didn’t want to chance missing d’Artagnan. Seeing the look on the young man’s face at discovering him, he was glad he’d waited.

“I, um, I needed to talk to my folks,” d’Artagnan offered, not knowing what else to say. He certainly couldn’t tell Aramis that he had been afraid to come home for fear of running into the man. Aramis had enough on his plate as it was without him adding to it.

“Yes, Porthos said as much,” Aramis replied. “I hope everything is alright with them.”

“Oh yeah, they’re fine.”

“Then come and sit with me. I’d like to talk to you.”

“It’s, ah, kinda late,” d’Artagnan hedged. “You should really be in bed. You’re still getting your strength back…”

“I am strong enough for this,” Aramis told him. “And I do not want you disappearing on me again before I have a chance to speak with you.”

“Right,” d’Artagnan said dejectedly. 

“Please, come and sit with me,” Aramis implored gently. “I really need to talk to you. I fear what might happen if I wait any longer.”

“What’s wrong?” d’Artagnan frowned. He hung up his jacket and reluctantly joined Aramis on the couch. He didn’t want to, afraid of what Aramis might say, but he owed it to the man to hear him out. 

“I have done you a very great disservice,” Aramis began as he reached over and took d’Artagnan’s hand. 

“What are you talking about?” d’Artagnan asked, his frown deepening. 

“When you came to me to talk, I did not let you,” Aramis explained. “I refused to listen to you. I’m sorry…”

“No,” d’Artagnan said, shaking his head. “You don’t have to be sorry for not wanting to listen to me stammer out some inadequate apology. You have every right to hate me for what I did.”

“Hate you?” Aramis gasped. “d’Artagnan, I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

“Then why did you refuse to let me try to make up for what I did?” d’Artagnan asked, confused.

“Because _you_ didn’t do anything,” Aramis said. “It was the demon, not you. I know this and I did not want you taking the blame for what that thing did.”

“But it was me,” d’Artagnan argued. “I helped it. I…”

“You were tricked,” Aramis said gently. “It tricked you and backed you into a corner where you had no choice but to do as it wanted. It wasn’t your fault, my friend.”

“But it was still me,” d’Artagnan said, the words pained. “It was still me that did that, that tricked you into coming down that alley, that… that…”

“Do you need to hear me say the words? Is that it? If so, then I forgive you. Wholly and without reservation. I forgive you.”

D’Artagnan felt his eyes prick with tears at Aramis’ words. He had longed for them so badly and to hear them at last was almost too much. Still, he was hesitant to believe them, unsure why Aramis was offering them now.

“Why…?”

“Because I love you,” Aramis said simply. “You are my friend and I love you and I am sorry that I made you doubt that.”

“I thought you hated me,” d’Artagnan whispered as he fought to control his emotions lest he fall apart altogether. 

“Never,” Aramis told him firmly. 

“I was going to move out,” d’Artagnan admitted. “It’s why I was at my folk’s for so long today.”

Aramis sucked in a breath at d’Artagnan’s words though they did not really surprise him. “After everything that you have been through I cannot blame you, but I do not want you to go. Please, will you think it over?”

“I don’t want to go,” d’Artagnan replied, squeezing Aramis’ hand hard. “I thought it would make things easier on you if you didn’t have to look at me every day.”

“Being apart from you could never be easier on me. I meant what I said. I love you, d’Artagnan.”

“I love you, too,” d’Artagnan said softly. “Much more than I should. Athos…”

“Athos understands,” Aramis said quickly. “He knows we did not mean for this but he also knows it has happened.”

“Is he mad?” d’Artagnan asked worriedly.

“No,” Aramis said, shaking his head fondly. “He says he does not mind it. I admit, I find that somewhat hard to comprehend.”

“He told me the same thing. I still can’t help but feel guilty, though. Like I’m crossing a line. I mean just because he says he’s okay with us together, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s ready to handle it. That didn’t make any sense.”

“Yes it did,” Aramis said. “And you are right. The idea of us together could prove much easier to take than the reality. Of course, I must admit, I myself am unsure of just what that reality might consist of.” 

“Oh,” d’Artagnan said. He had explained to Aramis once about being asexual, about needing closeness and some degree of physical contact, but he had never explained what being asexual meant for him.

“D’Artagnan?” Aramis called when his friend fell silent. “Did I ask too much? I do not mean to pry, especially about something so personal.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” d’Artagnan said quickly. He didn’t mind Aramis asking questions. In fact, he was glad for it. The last thing he wanted was for him to enter into this expecting something he simply could not give.

“Then what is it?” Aramis asked. 

“I haven’t had to explain all this stuff in a really long time,” d’Artagnan replied. “I’m trying to figure out where to even begin.”

“Alright. I can understand that. Perhaps you can start by telling me what it is you want from... from a relationship with me.”

“I feel guilty every time you say that,” d’Artagnan admitted. “Like we’re doing something wrong.”

“You should not,” Aramis said. “Athos has given us his blessing. He would not have done so lightly. But enough about Athos for now. We can discuss him and our worries for him later. Now tell me what you want from me, from this.”

D’Artagnan thought for a minute, trying to put his emotions into words. In the end, he simply settled for speaking his mind and hoping Aramis understood. “You know I identify as asexual,” he began. “Do you know what that means?”

“It means you do not care to engage in sexual relations with other people,” Aramis replied. 

“That’s fairly close. There is an entire spectrum for asexuality. People like me tend to fall all throughout it. Some people don’t like anything but the most platonic of touches. Some like to kiss and cuddle. Some don’t mind pleasing their partner. Some can’t stand the thought of sex at all. They’re sex repulsed.”

“So where do you fall on the spectrum?” Aramis asked.

“I’m kind of in the middle, I guess,” d’Artagnan shrugged. “I crave closeness. I want an emotional bond but not a physical one, not really. I like to be held and kissed. I like kissing a lot and it does arouse me at times but it’s not the kind of arousal that makes you want to do more. It’s usually nothing more than an annoyance to me.”

“So if I were to touch you while you were aroused?”

“I’m assuming you mean touch me sexually?” D’Artagnan asked, at Aramis’ nod he continued. “I would probably call a halt to things then and there. Being touched like that, it tends to throw me out of the moment.”

“Do you know why that is?”

“Because it doesn’t feel good. It’s like too much sensation, too much stimulation. I can get myself off sometimes, if I want to, and that feels good but anyone else’s hands on me like that just feels wrong.”

“So you like to kiss and cuddle but you want me to ignore it if you become aroused. Is that it?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan grinned. “I wouldn’t mind, you know, touching you if you get aroused. I’m usually okay with bringing my partner off as long as they don’t try to reciprocate.”

“Not minding is a far cry from actually wanting to,” Aramis observed. “Is that something you would want to do or would you be doing it simply to please me?”

“It would be to please you,” d’Artagnan said honestly. “I don’t get anything from it other than the satisfaction of knowing I’ve made you feel good.”

“Does it repulse you in some way?”

“No,” d’Artagnan shook his head. “I’m not sex-repulsed. I can appreciate it. You know, hear about it, read about it, watch it. I just don’t want to do any of the things I’m looking at. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the beauty of it.”

“You have given me quite a lot to think about, my friend,” Aramis said, blowing out a breath. “And I think I need to sit Athos down as well and make sure he understands exactly what your limits are. I don’t want him trying to push you into something you aren’t comfortable with simply because he doesn’t understand.”

“Athos would never do that,” d’Artagnan told him, meaning it. “He would never... never risk me like that.”

“Such faith you have in us,” Aramis mused as he lifted the hand held in his and kissed it softly. 

“Oh,” d’Artagnan gasped, the feeling of Aramis’ lips on his skin making him suddenly feel hot all over. With no small amount of reluctance, he carefully pulled his hand back. “You need to talk to Athos. Make sure he understands what he’s actually letting himself in for in allowing this.”

“I doubt anything you have explained here will change his mind,” Aramis said.

“Hopefully not, but I would prefer to give him the chance ahead of time rather than begin this and him suddenly realize he can’t do it.”

“And this... this is something you want? You are sure of it?”

“God, yes,” d’Artagnan said earnestly. “More than I’ve wanted anything in a very long time.”

“I will speak with Athos,” Aramis told him. “Can he come to you if he has questions?”

“Of course,” d’Artagnan said, happy to help Athos understand more about this part of his life. Perhaps then he would not feel like he was somehow betraying the man by pursuing this relationship with Aramis.

They stayed together on the couch until d’Artagnan started to fall asleep. Aramis had gently roused him at that point and helped him to his room. Once he was sure the young man was settled, he headed back into the living room. He knew he needed to get some sleep as well but his mind refused to quiet. Too many things ran in a loop through his head and he knew that he would not be able to rest until he had talked this out with Athos. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid of what Athos might say but he was worried that his burgeoning relationship with d’Artagnan could have more of an effect on the man than he was prepared for.

“Have you been up all night?” Athos asked when he came out of their bedroom rubbing his eyes. It was still quite early but he had woken and the empty bed had driven him in search of his lover. 

“Not quite,” Aramis said, blushing faintly as he smiled. “I managed a nap before he came home.”

“So how did it go?” Athos asked as he headed into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. He had a feeing he was going to need it for this conversation.

“Good,” Aramis called after him then waited for him to come back out and sit down beside him. He gave Athos a moment to drink his coffee before slipping his hand into his. 

“What is it?” Athos asked aware that there was something Aramis wanted to tell him but was struggling with. 

“Nothing really. It’s just... I wonder how much of this you truly understand.”

“How much of what?” Athos asked, frowning slightly. 

“Of what d’Artagnan wants. Of what a relationship between us might entail. Of how seeing us together so intimately is going to affect you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Athos said, touched by his lover’s concern. He was much more concerned with the pair of them and helping them to get their relationship back on track. He knew there were going to be times he struggled with it, but he also knew it would be worth it for all of their sakes.

“I will always worry about you,” Aramis said. “Neither of us want to hurt you in this and we are afraid that we will. D’Artagnan...”

“What?” Athos prompted. He could tell that Aramis was genuinely worried about this and he had to wonder just what the pair might have discussed to make him so wary.

“He craves closeness, a bond,” Aramis tried to explain. “While he does not wish to have sex in any manner, he does desire the physical closeness, including kissing.”

“Alright,” Athos said. This was nothing he was not already aware of. He wasn’t quite sure what about it was bothering Aramis so much.

“And when he becomes aroused?” Aramis asked. “Will it still be alright then?”

Athos started to say yes, of course then stopped himself. He thought about it, about the sight of the two men kissing, about d’Artagnan growing aroused from his lover’s touch. It made his stomach flutter with a confusing combination of apprehension and desire.

“I guess that would depend on what he intended to do about it,” Athos finally said.

“Nothing,” Aramis said.

“Nothing?” Athos repeated.

“He says that when it happens it is more of an annoyance than anything else. He does not wish to be touched in a sexual manner. He said he preferred to simply ignore it until it subsided. Being touched like that, he often finds it overwhelming. He is not repulsed by the idea of sex but he has no desire to participate in any way.”

“Okay,” Athos said as he tried to wrap his mind around everything Aramis had just told him. “I don’t see where that will be much of a problem then.”

“And when I become aroused?” Aramis asked carefully. “Will it be okay when you see me responding to the touch of another man?”

Athos sucked in a breath at Aramis’ words. A picture came unbidden to mind of the two young men entwined together. The sight of Aramis in his passion was always awe-inspiring. But to know that passion was being stoked by another... Athos was not sure how he would react.

“I really don’t know,” Athos admitted. “To see you losing yourself to passion and know it is due to someone else...”

“Now you see why I am still somewhat worried,” Aramis said. “We do not wish to hurt you in this. Neither of us do. D’Artagnan... he already feels as if he is betraying you by being with me.”

“I will speak with him,” Athos said. “We will figure this out between the three of us. I promise you we will. I will not see either of you suffer.”

“I know and I am thankful for that, but we do not have to be together to still be close.”

“Let me talk to him. I would have us at least try to make this work. I know how much you love him. I don’t want to be the cause of you having to be without him.”

“You are a very good man, my love,” Aramis said as he leaned in close and softly kissed Athos on the lips. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what are we watching?” Porthos asked as d’Artagnan set a huge bowl of popcorn in the center of the coffee table.

“There’s a Psycho marathon running on A&E,” d’Artagnan said.

“Psycho? Really?” Porthos asked sarcastically.

“I figured it was better than Killer Klowns from Outer Space,” d’Artagnan replied, grinning widely.

“No clowns,” Porthos said firmly. “I don’t even like going in McDonald’s anymore.”

“It’s alright, Porthos,” Aramis said, patting him on the arm as he sat down on the couch next to d’Artagnan. “It’s those big red noses. They can be quite frightening.”

“No,” Porthos shook his head. “I’m pretty sure it was the razor sharp talons and the machete.”

“Do not remind me,” Athos said as he sat down on the other side of d’Artagnan. There had been room enough next to Aramis but he didn’t want d’Artagnan to feel as though he was intruding on the two of them by being close to Aramis.

Porthos was about to reply when the doorbell rang. He frowned, looking at the others for any sign that they knew who had come to call. They looked as surprised as he did making him tense. They didn’t get a lot of visitors and those they did get tended to call first. He started to push himself up out of the chair but Athos was quicker.

“I’ll get it,” Athos said moving to the door. When he checked the outside camera he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He quickly opened the door and stood back to allow their visitor to enter. 

“Constance!” Porthos cried out when he saw who had come to call.

“Well I see you still have the flowers,” she said as she walked into the living room. “Considering the lack of response I was starting to wonder.”

“What do you mean?” Porthos asked, confused. “I said thanks.”

“You sent me an email,” she huffed. “It’s enough to make a girl think you’re not interested after all.”

Porthos felt his face heat at that and searched for something to say. He was most certainly interested but hadn’t wanted to seem pushy. Apparently that was a mistake if the irate woman in front of him was anything to go by.

“Well?” Constance asked impatiently when Porthos failed to reply. “Do you want to go out with me or not?”

“Of course I do,” Porthos said in a rush. 

“Then are you waiting for some particular astrological event to take place?”

“Huh?”

“Porthos, I think the lady would like you to take her out. Now,” Aramis said, trying his best not to laugh out loud at his friend’s predicament. 

“Oh!” Porthos said, finally understanding. Pushing himself to his feet, he closed the distance between them and took Constance’s hands. “So, would you like to go out?”

“I would love to,” she beamed. “I’m not sure what’s playing at the theater...”

“It has to be better than a Psycho marathon,” Porthos said as he began walking her toward the door. “You guys enjoy your movies.”

“And don’t wait up,” Constance called over her shoulder.

“Well,” Aramis chuckled. “That was unexpected.”

“I really hope it works out for them,” d’Artagnan said.

“I don’t think you have much to worry about. Constance seems rather determined.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Aramis quipped.

“For now,” Athos replied. “But enough about them. We have movies to watch.”

“Yes!” D’Artagnan said, almost bouncing in his seat. Aramis had sat close to him to give Athos room though the man had chosen not to take advantage of it. It left the two of them pressed together at the shoulder and the closeness made warmth pool in his belly.

By the time they were half way through the first movie, Aramis had slipped his arm around d’Artagnan pulling him in close to his side. D’Artagnan had gone willingly, snuggling against Aramis with a sigh. 

Aramis felt a well of emotions rise within him as d’Artagnan burrowed into him seeking more closeness. Turning his head, he placed a soft kiss to the top of the younger man’s head, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of him. He was unable to stop himself from comparing him to Athos, noting how differently they smelled. Where Athos was sharp and spicy, d’Artagnan was soft and clean, like freshly washed linen. It made him want to pull him into his arms fully and just hold him.

Athos watched the pair as surreptitiously as he could. He had to bite his tongue to keep quiet as they slowly moved closer. He knew part of it was the newness of their developing relationship but he also knew part of it was due to him. He considered going out and letting the pair have their privacy but had a feeling that would do more harm than good. Instead, he had no choice but to watch as they inched painstakingly closer.

When Aramis actually jumped at the finale, d’Artagnan chuckled and slid his arm around his waist pulling him the tiniest bit closer. Aramis went willingly, both for the comfort and simply for the pleasure of it. They had not held each other like this much and it sent a wave of feelings through him, most of which made him want to pull the young man onto his lap and kiss him senseless. He was not at all sure d’Artagnan was ready for that yet. Nor Athos either. 

“You two,” Athos said softly, unable to stay quiet any longer. They had no idea what a beautiful picture they made together. Beautiful and erotic, even in so innocent a pose as this. 

“Athos?” Aramis asked, looking over at his lover. He felt d’Artagnan stiffen and tightened his grip.

“The two of you,” Athos said. “You are beautiful together. And it is nice to see you both so happy again.”

“You don’t... mind?” D’Artagnan asked tentatively.

“No, d’Artagnan. I don’t mind,” Athos said fondly. “And after seeing you like this, how could I possibly tear you apart?”

“But you’ll tell us, right?” D’Artagnan pressed. “You’ll tell us if it starts to bother you?”

“Yes,” Athos agreed. “I’ll tell you. I promise.” 

Satisfied with Athos’ answer, Aramis leaned down and placed another soft kiss to the top of d’Artagnan’s head. When he felt his arms tighten around him, he carefully took him by the chin and tilted his face up. Looking down into wide, dark eyes, Aramis studied him for a moment before leaning down and kissing him on the mouth. 

D’Artagnan gasped at the feel of Aramis’ lips on his. His arms tightened around the man even more, his hands grabbing onto Aramis’ shirt and holding tight. A wild rush of feelings slammed through him when he felt Aramis’ lips part and his tongue carefully push into his mouth. It was enough to have him moaning brokenly as he gave in and stroked his tongue against Aramis’ eagerly.

At the feel of d’Artagnan kissing him back so ardently, Aramis let go of his fear and pulled d’Artagnan around until he was straddling his lap. He wrapped his arms around him, one around his waist, the other around his back and held him pressed against him chest to chest as he continued to kiss him deeply. 

For his part, d’Artagnan surrendered himself to Aramis, giving himself over to their kiss as he held him back, his hands gripping the man’s arms tightly. Aramis tasted so good, better than he’d ever imagined. He was honey and spice and something else that he couldn’t put a name to and wanted to drink him down. He could feel his body starting to respond but he ignored it, too intent on tasting Aramis to care about anything else. 

Long minutes passed as the two men held each other and kissed. Finally and with a great deal of reluctance, Aramis slowly drew back, breaking their kiss. Both men were panting as they rested their foreheads together, their hands still clutching each other close. They were both hard, each able to feel the other’s erection. Neither man moved to do anything about it though, respecting d’Artagnan’s boundaries.

Once his breathing had calmed a bit, d’Artagnan leaned back. He pressed a quick kiss to Aramis’ lips and rose. Taking Aramis’ hand, he pulled him to this feet then held a hand out to Athos. Once Athos was standing as well, d’Artagnan gave the pair a gentle shove toward their room. 

“I think you two could use a little alone time,” he said, smiling softly.

“You...” Aramis began but d’Artagnan shook his head.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Now go before Athos ravishes you right here.”

Aramis started to reply but Athos grabbed his hand forestalling him. Aramis looked at his lover then and the want his saw on his face made the erection that had started to wane flare back to life. Surging forward, Aramis gripped Athos by the back of the neck and pulled him forward into a hard kiss. He moaned as the taste of him chased away the taste of d’Artagnan then felt his cock swell at the thought of Athos tasting d’Artagnan on his kiss.

Another gentle push finally got them moving toward their room as d’Artagnan chuckled behind them. In all truth, he was relieved when the pair finally stumbled through the door to their room, closing it noisily behind them. He had told them before he wasn’t immune and seeing the pair kissing so passionately right next to him had ratcheted his arousal up to an uncomfortable level. Luckily, he knew just the fix for that. He only hoped the sound of the shower drowned out the sound of his friends in the room next door.

Taking d’Artagnan’s cue, Athos pulled Aramis into their room, pushing him up against the door. He leaned in close, holding him there with his body and kissed him again, shoving his tongue into his mouth as deeply as he could. He moaned at the traces of d’Artagnan he could still taste in his lover’s mouth, surprised at how strongly it affected him. 

He had expected to be jealous, uncomfortable, perhaps a bit put off by the sight of the pair so intimately embracing. He had not been prepared to be aroused by it. He had not been prepared for the level of white-hot _want_ the sight had sent sizzling through his veins. He knew that it was the combination of the two men, Aramis and d’Artagnan, together. That the sight of Aramis with any other would only have enraged him. But there was something about them, about how careful and loving the two young men were with each other that made Athos anything but angry.

“Athos...” Aramis moaned when he finally managed to pull his mouth away. Athos was holding him by the arms, his body pressing him into the door as he began kissing and biting along his jaw down to his neck. He tried to reach up, to hold Athos back, but the way Athos was holding him kept him firmly in place. 

“Want you,” Athos growled as he sucked on Aramis’ neck, barely stopping himself from biting down.

“Want you, too,” Aramis replied, still reeling from his lover’s reaction. While he had expected to grow somewhat aroused being so intimate with d’Artagnan, he had not expected the encounter to drive Athos nearly wild with lust.

Suddenly, Athos released Aramis’ neck and drew back. He kept hold of his lover’s arms, pulling him away from the door with him and toward the bed. As much as he wanted to just throw Aramis down on it and devour him, Athos forced himself to stop. He wanted Aramis, but he wanted him naked first.

Athos was so keyed up his hands were shaking as he started undressing his lover. Aramis had tried to help but Athos had shook his head and Aramis lowered his hands and simply allowed Athos to undress him. Once Athos had his shirt off, he dropped to his knees and quickly worked his pants down his hips and off. With Aramis now naked, Athos took a moment to sit back on his heels and admire him before leaning forward and taking his cock into his mouth without warning. 

Aramis shouted, his hands flying to Athos’ head, when his lover suddenly engulfed his hard cock in his mouth. He felt his knees weaken and had to lock them in place as Athos licked and sucked him. He tried not to thrust, to be still and let Athos do what he would, knowing that was what his lover wanted right now, but it was hard. Athos wasn’t the only one that had gotten worked up and he knew it wouldn’t take much more to send him over the edge.

Not wanting Aramis to come this way, at least not yet, Athos finally pulled back and let his lover’s cock slide from his mouth. He kept his hands on his hips, holding him tightly when he swayed on is feet. Once he was steady, he pressed him down onto the bed then stood up and quickly shed his own clothes. 

Naked, Athos moved onto the bed with Aramis, moving on top of him. He felt his erection dig into his stomach and moved so that they were pressed together, cock to cock. When Aramis moaned, Athos kissed him hard, driving his tongue in deep as he ground their erections together. 

Aramis was on fire. His cock felt like it was ready to burst. Athos was kissing him, taking his mouth thoroughly. He had felt his lover’s ardor before but never like this. Never did it feel like Athos was barely in control, like he was a hairsbreadth from simply rutting. It was amazing and Aramis gave himself over to it. He kissed Athos back with equal fervor, sucking on his tongue and making him cry out into his mouth. 

They managed to establish a rhythm, both men moaning as they kissed hungrily. A few more frantic thrusts and Aramis was crying out into their kiss as he began to come, his cock jerking between them. Groaning with the knowledge, Athos followed him, cock jerking as he came messily between them as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, kid,” Porthos said as he let himself into the loft. D’Artagnan was sitting on the couch, munching on popcorn and watching a movie.

“Hey man. How’d your date go?” D’Artagnan grinned.

“Great!” Porthos said smiling widely. He sat down in the recliner and eyed the young man. He seemed happy. Happy and fresh out of the shower judging by his still damp hair. “How was movie night?”

“Awesome,” d’Artagnan replied his smile turning into a dopey grin. 

“So where are the love birds?” Porthos laughed.

“Bedroom. Which is a good thing. Trust me, man.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Nah. Not really. They just needed some ‘alone time’. If you get my drift.”

“All over each other, huh?” Porthos asked. He tried to keep the concern from his voice. He wasn’t really worried but he knew how tenuous things were between d’Artagnan and Aramis right now. 

“I think Athos got a little worked up watching me and Aramis,” d’Artagnan said innocently. 

“Come again?” Porthos nearly choked causing d’Artagnan to laugh out loud.

“Sorry man. We were just, you know, cuddling and stuff,” d’Artagnan said, blushing a bit at the admission. “Athos did get a bit worked up though so I sent them to their room to work it off.”

“You okay?” Porthos asked, just wanting to be sure.

“Oh yeah,” d’Artagnan said quickly, blushing even more. 

“That’s great, kid,” Porthos said. He meant it, too. His family was together and healing. It looked like their nightmare was finally over.

Epilogue:

9 months later...

“So I know the haunted house was kind of a bust...” d’Artagnan began only for three sets of incredulous eyes to stare back at him.

“Kind of a bust?” Porthos snorted. “Are you shitting me?”

“It’s not another haunted house, I swear,” d’Artagnan said quickly.

“Exactly what is ‘it’?” Athos asked with a false note of calm. Any mention of the Haunted House Incident, as he referred to it in his mind, nearly made him break out in a cold sweat. It was only recently really that he had managed to get that much under control. 

“It’s a carnival. One of the biggest in the state,” d’Artagnan said excitedly. 

“Do they have clowns?” Porthos asked flatly.

“Come now, Porthos,” Aramis said when he saw some of the excitement go out of d’Artagnan’s eyes. “We’ll keep the nasty clowns away from you. When is it?”

“Next weekend,” d’Artagnan said hopefully.

“Aramis and I have an appointment at the tattoo shop that morning,” Athos said, “but it’s just an initial consult about the scars on my arm. We could go afterwards.”

“Great!” D’Artagnan grinned widely.

“Yeah. Great,” Porthos mimicked though with significantly less enthusiasm.


End file.
